


Read My Mind

by Jude_littlewanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anger Management, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Help this author wishes she were funny, M/M, No one else will put up with the Solo family bullshit, Pride and Prejudice References, Rey is their only hope, Romantic Comedy, Skywalker Family Drama, Therapist Rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude_littlewanderer/pseuds/Jude_littlewanderer
Summary: Young, plucky, and eager for a challenge, Rey decides to take on her friend Finn's most troublesome patients. However, the more sessions she shares with the dysfunctional family's "demon-of-a-son", the more she finds herself blurring the line between therapist and patient.Excerpt-"I just don’t know any counselor I can recommend to them… I don’t hate anyone enough to do that. They’re like this terrible hybrid of medieval royal family and a telenovela… All secret twins, incestuous explorations, and I’ll-slap-you-then-make-out-with-you romance… And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Finn rants.





	1. Chapter 1

Rey watches as Finn wades through the bar; he reminds her of a cross between Atlas, holding up the weight of the sky, and a malnourished zombie who’d just failed to catch his meal. When he finally reaches the stool next to her own, Finn melts onto the worn wooden counter of the Resistance. His hand waves lazily, gesturing vaguely. Poe catches his eye, then nods and winks. Rey shakes her head and rolls her eyes. One day those boys will realize the truth. Meanwhile, she takes a sip of her riesling and then turns to Finn. 

“I give up.”

“What happened?”

“Just this family I’m working with… Especially their demon of a son…”

“Teenage tantrums?” Rey teases. She takes another sip and nods a greeting to Poe as he sidles up to them. Poe smirks and points to Finn. She shrugs. Poe nods and dances to the tap. Pressing down, he fills a glass with amber beer and sashays back to Finn. Wordlessly, Finn grasps the glass, gulps down half of its contents, wipes his mouth, and bangs his head on the counter. Rose hovers by Finn’s elbow with concern shining in her eyes and a menu clutched to her chest. Staring at the three, Rey bites back a laugh. 

“Hah, he’s technically no longer a teenanger. Look, I can’t give details… But..” Finn shudders dramatically, then continues, “But I think I’ll have to just give up. I just don’t know any counselor I can recommend to them… I don’t hate anyone enough to do that. They’re like this terrible hybrid of medieval royal family and a telenovela… All secret twins, incestuous explorations, and I’ll-slap-you-then-make-out-with-you romance… And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Finn rants with his cheek squished against the counter. 

Poe gently pats him on the shoulder. Finn finally pushes himself up and leans back on his stool. Rey takes another sip of her drink. Then curiosity and liquid courage spur her forward. 

“I could take them off your hands, if you’d like?”

“Really?” Finn’s eyes light up like a young child celebrating Christmas in some Hallmark channel movie. Rey wonders idly if children really look that excited during the holiday, or if it’s just Hallmark magic again. She bites back the acrid disappointment and forces a smile.

“Sure, I like a challenge.”  
….........  
Whistling, she turns to walk down the supermarket aisle. She glances at the sign, double-checking that it has pasta, then pushes her cart forward. The wheel, a finicky thing, twists and she skids to the right and smashes into something solid. Rey hears a spitfire swear and glances up at the hulking mass of a man whose bent over his foot with a stormy scowl and fire flaring in his eyes. Eyes widening in horror, Rey rushes forward. 

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” she asks, already reaching out to offer aid. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls. 

He glares at her and swats her hand away. His ebony eyes sear her. A witch’s brew of emotions bubble in her stomach. Rey’s jaw snaps shut and she glares back. She’s kept her fury on a tight leash for the entirety of the day. She hasn’t snapped at the abusive foster parents who push their unruly foster children into her hands. She hasn’t growled at the indifferent and threadbare rag-tag assortment of social workers who meekly shrug and nod before wordlessly passing their charges to her and ducking out the door. She’s exorcised her ghosts with sheer tenacity, but each time she notes a bruise jutting out from the bottom of a kid’s shirt or she sees a child flinch when she leans towards them, Rey’s vanquished ghosts revive and loom over her shoulder. Now, after a day of holding back her snarls and swears, she feels weary and the glint in this giant’s eyes pushes her over the edge. The leash snaps.

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice. It was obviously an accident. Don’t be a dick about it,” she spits.

“Accident? You practically fucking plowed into me.” He leans forward with his teeth bared and his eyes knife-sharp; it reminds Rey of a predator about to strike. Rey meets his gaze, tilts her chin, and takes an appraising glance: bruised knuckles, a hint of a faded tattoo, a slight bump on the top of his aquiline nose, a scar that stretches from his forehead to his collarbone, a tailored suit, and ink-stained fingers. Rey smirks.  
Then she does her damn job.

“You are incapable of processing your own complex emotions due to a strained, or possibly non-existent, relationship with your parents. Your mother wasn’t particularly nurturing and your father proved uncommunicative and absent-minded. In fact, I’d bet that both of your parents were workaholics, right? Which is why you got that tattoo as a teenager. You probably went to a sketchy place with a shit fake ID and just got something you felt was badass out of the desperate hope that either of your parents would notice and care. Of course, neither did, yeah?” She pauses to give him time to process. His jaw tightens and he reaches absently towards his tattoo.

Bingo, she smirks. Never mess with a psychologist. 

"So here you are, late-twenties or early thirties, emotionally stunted and either picking fights at bars or punching walls. You have a high-stress job that lets you vent, but it’s not enough. Probably something that lets you scream and argue. Maybe a prosecutor? Or a defender? Your boss probably encourages your fury. Sick bastard. Anyway, you probably hero-worship one or both of your grandparents and are convinced that if you’d just lived with them, you’d be happier. Fact check, you wouldn’t be… Since obviously this cycle of emotional abuse is multi-generational. Oh, and you should seriously consider seeing someone about your anger management problem. It’s tough to hold onto a job when you’re lashing out like a teenager. Your current boss is probably a sick fuck who likes threatening people with his rabid dog of an employee, but most employers won’t hire someone like you. So fix your act or keep being manipulated and used.” Rey stands with her hip cocked and one hand resting on it sassily. She raises a brow and smirks. 

He tenses and juts his shoulders back. One hand forms a fist at his side, and Rey notes how his shoulders brace against the tight fabric of his tailored black suit. She squints up at him and widens her stance. Then he blinks and an emotion she cannot decipher flashes in his eyes. Rey stands rooted to the spot, transfixed. He leans towards her. She bristles and her hands tighten into fists. His gaze gains a magnetic quality, and she cannot pull herself away. He swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs. Rey waits with bated breath. Then, he blinks, and she remembers how to breathe again. He shakes his head, like a damp dog drying off, and stumbles away. Rey’s eyes follow him as he rushes down the aisle with an empty, steel-mesh basket.  
…..............  
Ben turns the corner, forcing himself to stay upright. His heart stutters and his legs feel like taffy. He leans against the display of chips, and a metallic shelf digs into his lower back. His mind keeps flickering to the girl’s hazel eyes and how they practically shimmered like gold while she dissected him with a smile. It sends a shiver down his spine and tugs a smile across his face. He wipes his face and runs a hand through his hair. 

Glancing down at his empty basket, he sighs. He twists and sneaks a peek down the aisle. She’s standing there, comparing two different packets of pasta. Ben whirls around. An electric jolt buzzes through his brain. His face feels warm, and he can’t quite remember how to breathe. Ben sighs, banging his head against a metal shelf, and then biting back a swear.

Rubbing the back of his throbbing head, he brainstorms his options: he could go back and ask for her number, but then he’d probably seem like a freak; he could “accidentally” bump into her in another part of the store, apologize, and offer to make it up for her, but if she spots him trailing along after her, then he’ll seem like a stalker; he could just leave, but then he may never see her again. 

Anxiety squeezes his heart, so he stands there with a metal shelf digging into his lower back, taking deep breaths and trying to decide how to proceed. His mind keeps flickering between each frantic half-assed option, but the list of cons keeps outweighing the potential pros, so his vision keeps lighting up with glaring crimson X’s. Ben sighs, tugs at his hair, and shakes his head. 

Eventually, the outside world trickles into his perception and he notices the murmurs and odd looks passerby keep giving him. His face feels feverish. He snarls and glares at a young couple who move across the aisle to avoid him. Then, he pulls himself up, and slinks away from her aisle. Ben glances at his basket, but he can’t seem to recall why he even came here in the first place. Absently, he walks out of the grocery store with the empty basket loosely held in his right hand. A store clerk races out, pointing to the basket and muttering something that Ben can’t quite catch. Blushing, Ben hands him back the basket and glances at the sign: Takodana’s Supermarket. He nods to himself, and a birdbrained scheme that’s about as well thought out as the outline of some desperate, procrastinating undergrad’s caffeine fueled essay starts to form.


	2. Chapter 2

Rey breathes out slowly, trying to settle her nerves. She pats down her bun, and her hands flutter about. Chewing her lip, she hesitates between grabbing a pen or crossing her hands firmly in her lap. She glances at the wooden door to her office, then looks at the clock to her right. They ought to arrive any second. She takes out her binder with yellow notepad paper and tries to fumigate the butterflies of anxiety flittering about in her stomach.

The oak door creaks open, and Rey’s heart thunders in her chest. She feels like a heroine in some cheap horror film, waiting for the monster to show up and tear her apart. She swallows. She really should stop demonizing this poor family. Sure, Finn had shadows under his eyes and kept waking up screaming in the middle of the night, but they couldn’t actually be **that** bad, right?

A large, oxford-clad foot pokes out from behind the door. Rey takes one last, desperate mouthful of air and forces a cheery grin. A huge hand soon follows after the foot. Her heart thunders in her ears. She can hear arguing in the hallway. Rey wants to roll her eyes, but bites her cheek. The door finally opens fully and Rey’s heart stops. She finds herself staring into a pair of all-too-familiar obsidian eyes. It's her grumbling, grocery-store giant.

He blinks back. His plush lips part. He gulps. Some emotion flickers across his face, softening it, before his pale face tightens back into an ivory mask with constellations of moles and beauty marks. He stands in the doorway, practically filling it with his girth. She bites back a laugh at the irony. He ducks inside and stumbles towards the leather loveseat.

Behind him strolls in a regal, aging beauty and a roguish, silver-haired man. His mother, Leia presumably, has a presence that draws the eye and sucks the air from the room. Meanwhile, the man, Han, has deeply cut laugh lines and the tanned skin of someone who grew up running about under the sun. He walks about as if he owns the place.

Both of them are arguing about something, but Rey can’t quite distinguish their words over her pounding heart. The two settle onto the couch, and Rey notes how they both subtly pat the other’s thigh and sit close enough that their hands touch. Rey schools her expression into a pleasant mask and continues to smile at the family.

The woman clears her throat and glares at her son, who somehow manages to make Rey’s oversized loveseat look like children’s furniture. His knees are drawn towards his chest and he practically spills out of the chair. In any other situation, Rey would probably dissolve into a fit of giggles at the sight. He clears his throat, but instead of talking just glances out the window with a mournful expression.

The woman sighs, pats her husband’s thigh once more, then twists towards her son and clucks her tongue. His shoulders tense. Rey sees him roll his eyes, but he clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak. Then, a flash of panic illuminates his eyes. He glances at Rey and the tips of his ears turn cherry-red. He swallows, snaps his mouth shut, and looks out the window. This time, his mother actually leans over the arm of the sofa and smacks him lightly on the arm. Her face twists into a scowl. Han just smirks and rolls his eyes at Rey, as if trying to enlist her to join his side and laugh at the pair. Rey keeps her expression neutral and waits.

“Sorry, work held me up. Things ran late. One of the clients...” he trails off, looking down at his hands and shaking his head. He chances a glance up at Rey, then turns back to the window. Despite the rich bass tones, his throat sounds hoarse from disuse; it conjures up the image of some old leather-bound tome covered in dust and sealed shut with spiderwebs.

He doesn’t seem like much of a talker. Her thoughts fast-forward to his scheduled visit for a private session the next day, Rey gulps. Her secretary and Finn's and scrambled to re-adjust her schedule in order to find him a slot tomorrow. Her Thursdays are usually booked solid, but Ben apparently didn't have a flexible schedule.

“You’ll have to excuse him. He prefers to sulk in the corner,” the woman scoffs.

She sounds exhausted, and the bitter twist of her mouth hints at decades of family feuds.

Rey nods cheerfully and pretends that she’s not mentally kicking herself for being cocky enough to step up to the plate and become their therapist.

“Anyway, I’m Leia. This is my husband, Han, and he’s Ben.” She gestures towards the giant from the grocery store. “We were a tad shocked when Dr. Trooper recommended we start meeting with you instead. I could have sworn we were finally starting to work out our problems under his guidance…” She trails off, glaring again at Ben, who snorted when she mentioned working through their issues. “Well, at least I’m trying, unlike you two,” she spits.

Ben chuckles and Han just rolls his eyes. Rey clears her throat.

“Well, it seems that you are conflicted over the effectiveness of Dr. Trooper’s sessions. Would you care to enlighten me? I want us to establish an effective healing environment, so truthfulness and open communication are very important,” she rattles off the statements and waits with bated breath.

Surprisingly, Ben talks first. “He was useless.”

“Benjamin Amidala Organa-Solo, you take that back! That nice young man was great,” Leia scolds.

Ben clucks his tongue.

After listening to that mouthful of a name, Rey begins to understand why Ben might not feel particularly generous towards his parents. A name like that carries the weight of numerous legacies; the consequential expectations that followed Ben must have haunted him throughout his youth.

For once, Rey almost feels grateful that she named herself: Rey Johnson, a nobody from nowhere with a last name picked randomly from a list of generic options. At least by having no relatives, she can avoid Ben’s problem: the forebear's of her name won’t loom over her shoulder, obscuring her in their shadows.

“Yeah, great at ducking,” he mutters.

Han grunts a laugh, and points towards Leia: "She throws things." 

"You both are twisting that well-out of proportion! It was one time."

Suddenly that night last week when Finn and Poe threw pillows at her head and told her she’d be thanking them later makes sense.

“Both of you behave,” Leia commands.

Her eyes flash and Ben sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Why do you keep dragging us to these things, mother? It’s pointless,” he grumbles.

Han chortles and Leia shoots him a glance.

“Out of curiosity, what makes you feel that these sessions are pointless?” she asks.

Ben blinks up at her. His cheeks flush pink, then he sighs, and shrugs.

“Some things are just too broken; they can’t be fixed,” he mumbles.

Rey blinks. Sympathy tugs at her heart.

“Luckily for you all, I love fixing things,” she smiles.

Ben meets her gaze. His mask cracks and she notes the sadness in his eyes. The rest of the session passes by somewhat tersely. Leia tends to wheedle her husband and son into gruff, monosyllabic answers to Rey’s probing questions.

Meanwhile, Rey jots down her observations and comments in the binder. Ben keeps staring at her, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut for the majority of the session. Leia and Han dissolve into an argument over Leia’s obsessive need for order and a busy schedule. The two of them continue to swap barbed complaints for the majority of the session. Rey writes down workaholic under both Leia and Han’s names and a few theories as to why they both developed these tendencies as coping mechanisms.

She also notes the sneaky grins and flushed faces of the two as they argue. Rey stops herself from rolling her eyes at Han and Leia’s antics, but when she looks up, she sees Ben smirking at her with that unreadable expression warming his eyes again. Rey bites her lip. He risks a small smile, then returns to staring out the window and most likely wishing himself anywhere else.

Overall, she doesn’t want to start working on methods to explain and fix this patched up family until after she formulates a better understanding of their backstory and how they came to their current state of dysfunction: Han and Leia living in separate houses on opposite ends of the city, but refusing to divorce and Ben barely communicating with either of them, unless Leia drags him to a therapy session or shows up at his workplace with fire in her eyes and threats on her lips.

Rey finds herself sympathizing with Ben throughout the session. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that Han and Leia spent his childhood too preoccupied with work and playing coy to spare much thought to their silent son. Abandonment comes in many forms.

* * *

 

Rey pushes open the heavy pine door of Resistance and Finn ducks in after her. Poe nods and gestures for them to sit in their usual spot with the jerk of his head. Finn blushes, and refuses to meet Rey’s teasing eyes. So they wordlessly stride through the crowded bar and settle down on their wooden stools in the corner closest to the window. Poe saunters over with two glasses of Guinness and quirks a teasing brow. Rey just rolls her eyes and grabs her glass, while Poe continues to joke around by holding Finn’s glass slightly out of reach. Finn lazily reaches for it, and Poe dances away from him. The two men laugh and continuing their game.

Rey just sits, slowly sipping her beer and wondering if she should prod Finn to finally ask out Poe. Rose skips up to them with glossy menus, and Rey smiles at the younger girl who frowns and bites her lip when she catches Finn and Poe flirting like a pair of preteens.

“Hello, Rose. How are you?” Rey asks, trying to distract the rejected girl.

“Alright, a tad tired. November's always hell month, you know?” Rose smiles wryly.

Rey notes the shadows under Rose’s eyes and the general air of exhaustion surrounding her.

“I remember…” Rey sighs, nodding sympathetically.

She takes another sip of her beer.

“All those projects start being due and then everyone’s frantically trying to shove material down your throat…” Rose rants, shaking her head and plopping down on the stool next to Rey.

She swings her legs and rests her chin on her hands.

“It’s your last time though, right?” Rey asks.

“Well, I graduate after Spring Semester and I’m hoping to start grad school in the fall. So… Yes and no?” Rose leans on one hand and tilts the other back and forth.

“Where are you applying?”

“I’d like to be closer to my sister. She’s stationed near San Diego, so I’ve applied to several West Coast schools, but it depends on scholarships,” Rose sighs, going back to her previous pose.

She kicks the bar. Poe stops flirting to flash her a warning, but she just smiles and rolls her eyes once he turns back to Finn.

“Have you applied to be a TA?” A surge of directionless empathy overcomes Rey. If Rose studied psychiatry, Rey could offer her a paid internship or write her a recommendation letter; however, Rey has no qualifications in the field of aeronautical engineering, so instead she can only sit back and offer vague pieces of advice and sympathetic smiles.

“Yeah, it’s a good idea. I started emailing some professors with similar research specialities, like you said. Hopefully someone will want me.” Rose knocks on the bar with a wry smile.

“Rose, you’re a fantastic person and an excellent student. You’ll find a program that works for you.”

“Thanks. So, do you know what you’d like to order?” Rose twists towards her, jumping off the stool, and wiping imaginary dust off of her jeans.

“Probably just some chips.”

“Do you mean chip chips or fries?” Rose’s nose scrunches, while her pen hovers over her notepad.

“Oh, um… Fries, my bad,” Rey laughs.

“No problem. I just wanted to be sure. How’d you end up in the US anyway?”

“Scholarships and curiosity.”

“Huh… Didn’t your family worry?”

“No family,” Rey mutters, trying to pretend like announcing the news doesn’t feel like tearing off a barbed band-aid.

“Oh… Shit… I mean shoot… I’m sorry.” Rose’s eyes widen and she starts leaning towards Rey.

A jolt of panic makes Rey jump. She forces a smile and hopes that Rose won’t try to touch her.

“It’s alright,” she chokes out. “I…” she swallows, “I choose my family instead.” She gestures towards Finn and Poe.

Rose looks at the two and smiles softly, nodding to herself. Then she turns to Rey with her eyes alight.

“You’re always welcome to join the Tico family if you want!”

“Thanks, Rose. You’re a sweetheart.” Rey pushes the words out of her mouth.

Then she passes Finn a menu, and Rose turns her full attention to her oblivious crush. Finn blinks blearily. He glances at the menu, shuffles through it, then shrugs and makes Poe order for him. Poe just chuckles indulgently and pokes something into the POS system with a twinkle in his eye. Rose huffs, but Rey assures her that she’ll get the tip, so Rose smiles awkwardly and runs off to check on another customer.

Sighing, Rey turns to Finn. “You need to be more aware of others,” she tuts.

He just quirks a brow and shrugs. “What are you talking about?”

“Finn, you aren’t that blind. Stop pretending to be. Either tell her you're interested or stop stringing her along.”

“I don’t do anything though,” Finn deflects.

Poe chooses this time to go check on some other customers. Finn’s eyes follow him.

“Exactly,” Rey states.

“You know what I meant.” Finn rolls his eyes and tuts.

“Yes, I do. But doing nothing doesn’t seem to be helping her,” Rey points out diplomatically.

“Peanut, she’s young. She’ll find someone else and forget all about her little crush on me. Besides, if you’re wrong and she doesn’t have a crush, then I’ll just look like a douchebag if I talk to her about it. She doesn’t plan to stay here for her master’s, so why potentially ruin a friendship over this?”

“Do you think I’m wrong though?” Rey tilts her chin, challenging him to lie to her face.

Finn deflates. Resting his head in his hands, he stares at her through the spaces between the splayed fingers of his right hand.

“Rey… That’s not the point,” Finn mumbles.

“I know it’s not, but I also know that she’s had a crush on you for nearly two years, Finn. She deserves an answer.”

Rey tightens her jaw and glares at him. He just further deflates.

“Could we please talk about something else?” He whines.

“Well, I figured out why you and Poe decided to give me lessons on ducking,” Rey laughs wryly.

“Did they? On the first day?” Finn’s face lights up at the scandal.

Rey rolls her eyes. He just loves gossip.

“No, but Ben brought it up,” She giggles, her cheeks flushing magenta. Rey takes another sip of her beer and blames the liquid for the sudden warmth in her chest.

“Ben? Ugh… The demon. He’s the worst out of the lot of them,” Finn mutters.

He swallows a mouthful of beer and clunks the glass on the bar. “At least Han and Leia are decent people. They’re just terrible together. Ben though…” Finn shudders dramatically, then takes another swig of beer.

“I actually feel bad for him. It’s got to be difficult to grow up with parents too preoccupied with their careers and one another to spare you a glance. In a way, his own family rejected him. I can see why he has a difficult time trusting people,” Rey confesses.

Finn just stares at her as if she told him she genuinely believed that the Earth is flat. “You actually care about that monster?” He asks, voice raising in shock.

Poe glances over with a quirked brow. Rey waves awkwardly. “He’s not a monster,” she argues.

“Rey…” Finn stretches out her name, turning it into a plea.

“He has a monstrous temper… God, he was an ass when I bumped into him at the grocery store, but that’s different,” she concludes.

Her mind flips between the Ben from Takodana’s versus today’s Ben. Today he seemed more subdued and pensive. Perhaps she just bumped into him during a bad moment? Although Finn makes him out to be Satan himself.

“Wait… Is he grocery guy? Oh, that’s rich! You told me that you tore that guy apart! Did your whole mind reading routine and everything, yeah? No wonder he behaved. He’s probably terrified of you,” Finn rants.

He sits on the edge of his stool and eagerly awaits her answer.

“I don’t know… I can’t tell,” she mumbles, mainly to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Sorry I'm a tad behind on replying to comments. I'm moving, so everything's been a tad hectic. I've read all of your comments and I am so grateful for each and every one. I'm going to reply sometime next week (after moving day), but in the meantime, here's an update! 
> 
> Thank you kylohhh for being an amazing beta, and Mrs.Violet and humble_mumbles for being extremely supportive and helpful! 
> 
> Please comment and/or give kudos! It makes my day and motivates me to keep writing.


	3. Chapter 3

 

When the door to her office creaks open, Rey scrunches her nose and glances at the clock: it’s 5:30 pm, and her next appointment shouldn’t begin for another half-hour. Taking one last bite of her apple, she turns to the door and slaps on a smile. 

Ben looms in the doorframe. He won’t meet her eyes, instead he glares at her feet. Rey swallows her half-chewed bit of apple, and clears her throat. He looks up, blushes, then back at her feet. 

Gulping, she decides to dissolve the tension. 

“I could have sworn your appointment was at 6,” she begins. Ben nods and ducks into the loveseat. She waits. If she were a character in a movie, crickets would be chirping at this point. Ben’s right foot taps against her fuzzy spring green carpet. 

“So, what brings you here early?” She forces out a laugh. Ben just shrugs and looks out the window. Her stomach growls. One of her appointments went a tad overtime and she had to skip lunch. 

Her eyes flicker to her apple. Ben regards the apple on her desk with a curious glance, then looks up at her with a quirked charcoal brow and questioning eyes. 

“Would you mind…? If I finish my snack. I had to skip lunch,” she prattles. 

Something about his probing silence causes her to ramble, as if terrified by the emptiness. Ben’s eyes widen. He swallows and nods frantically.

Rey regards him over her apple. She doesn’t understand why he keeps sitting in the loveseat; he’d obviously feel less scrunched on the couch. 

Shaking her head, she swallows a bite and waits. Ben still doesn’t speak. Rey stifles her frustration. Instead, she fiddles with her pen and takes a rather vicious next bite of her apple. Ben just smiles faintly. 

Swallowing, she starts, “So, Ben, what are your goals for these sessions? How can I help you?” He flounders for words, blushes, and goes back to staring out the window. Rey nods to herself. 

“Perhaps you want to work through your shyness?” Ben blinks, squints his eyes, considers her for a few moments with his head tipped to the left, then nods warily. 

“Should I just make some educated guesses regarding how this acute shyness came to develop?” Ben smiles and nods. 

His shoulders relax. At this rate, he might not speak for the entire hour. At the thought, Rey wants to tear her hair out and shake his shoulders. Instead she crosses her legs and feels his eyes follow her. 

“Alright, my guess is that you didn’t have much opportunity for socialization with those your age when you were young. When you attended school, you were most likely bullied or the like, so you learned to keep to yourself. Your family situation was relatively unstable, and often you felt as if your parents didn’t even remember you were there, so this caused your shyness to worsen, yes?”  

Ben’s eyes widen. He smiles and nods.

**Still.Not.A.Word.**

Rey represses an exasperated sigh. 

“You have a career, so you must have worked through your shyness to some extent. But perhaps, especially with your anger management issues in mind, you don’t have much of a social life?” Ben gulps. 

His mouth tightens and he looks at the door.

“Yep, not much of a social life. What about dating?” She asks, pointing her pen at him as if it were a microphone. 

He just stares at her in shock, his mouth agape. “Have you never dated anyone?” She tries to muffle her surprise. 

Sure, Ben has serious anger issues, so she wouldn’t be surprised if he had a difficult time convincing people to go out for a second date; however, Rey considers him easily one of the most attractive men she’s ever seen.

With eyes like a shot of espresso, lush, obsidian waves straight out of a Pantene commercial, a regal and proud nose, lush lips tinged distractingly red, a fascinating collection of connect-the-dot moles, and adorable ears that poke out like overeager students, Ben has the sort of beauty that takes a few glances to notice, but once acknowledged proves unforgettable.

He has a Mona Lisa sort of beauty: he’s not a factory-produced, Ken doll. 

Ben’s eyes narrow and he sarcastically raises an eyebrow. She raises her hands in mock-surrender, and he rolls his eyes and lets out a huff of laughter. 

“Alright, you’ve dated, but have you ever asked anyone out?” He shakes his head in a “no”.  A sliver of jealousy stabs her. Rey has only had one serious relationship, and she had to ask him out. 

“Are you interested in anyone at the moment?” His eyes widen and his ears turn pink. Rey nearly laughs. 

“My homework is for you to ask that person out,” she instructs. 

Ben gapes at her, then frantically shakes his head. His hands tighten on the arms of the loveseat and he looks ready to run out of the room. 

“Okay, I guess that is a tad harsh. However, you need to ask this mystery person at least three questions before our next session.” 

Ben quirks an eyebrow and stares at her with calculating eyes. 

“I’m not budging this time. Three is a perfectly reasonable number. You can practice on me, if you want?”

Ben smirks. Humor lights his eyes. 

Rey feels like she accidentally made a joke that went right over her head.

Ben clears his throat, looks at her, bites his lip, and nods to himself. 

“Why did you decide to become a therapist?” He asks. Rey blinks. That will take a while. 

“It’s a bit of a story, actually, but I believe in complete honesty with my clients. If you get bored though, feel free to just ask me to stop. This is just an exercise. Anyway…” she takes a breathe. 

“I grew up in the foster system back in the U.K. I met so many kids who were hurting and just needed someone to listen and to care. A lot of these kids had been abused, either by their birth parents or some unqualified foster parent along the way, and to treat themselves a lot of them turned to drugs. It’s an expensive form of self-medication, and it can often drag you into a world that’s like a tar pit: tough to escape. If it’s not drugs, it’s often self-harm or suicide. It’s just… Being in the system… You feel like you are nothing. You feel unwanted and unloved. It seems like everyone is constantly trying to send you away," she pauses. 

"Anyway, a lot of people give up on these children and consider them a waste of the state’s resources, but I always thought that if we just had one decent person who would listen and help all of us work through our problems… Then maybe there would be less of us attempting suicide or getting into drugs…” she shakes her head and swallows the lump in her throat, refusing to let that image obscure her vision. 

He’s haunted her all her life. 

“But… You’re not a social worker?” Asks Ben with a thoughtful glance. He leans towards her with his elbows resting on his knees, as if riveted by her answer. 

“No, I knew in my own case that my social worker was just too exhausted and too overworked to really be able to help. Plus, as a psychologist, I am better qualified to give these kids the psychological aid they need. And… I like to think that by offering family counseling sessions, I might help a family stay together and, hopefully, prevent another child from being dragged into foster.” She bites her lip and looks down at her almost entirely blank notepad. 

She chances a glance up at Ben; his smile looks almost awe-struck. She blinks and shakes her head. Obviously, she’s feeling emotionally compromised and just projected that image onto him in order to feel better about herself. 

“Do you feel…?”

“Alone? Unwanted? Sometimes, yes.”

“You’re not alone,” he states, his voice emphasizing each word with a reverberating seriousness. 

“Neither are you,” she chokes out the words and blinks away her tears. She shouldn’t behave like this during a session. Ben single-mindedly tears down her walls. He reaches out, as if to grab her hand. 

Rey finds herself mirroring his actions, until the voice of reason inside her head yells at her to behave properly. Rey gulps and runs her outstretched hand through her hair. Ben blinks and looks up at her in confusion, then nods to himself and looks awkwardly at his feet. 

“Umm…Do you…?” 

“You asked three questions, Ben. But they were great conversational openers. You just need confidence. I think that your session is up, but remember your homework! Same time next week, right?” Rey rushes through her spiel in a desperate attempt to hide just how shaken she feels. 

“Yeah, next Wednesday at 6… Ummm… Could I book two hours?” Ben mumbles, not quite looking at her. Instead he seems to glare at the framed photo of her wedged between Finn and Poe just to the right of her head. 

“Would you mind moving your appointment up to 5:30 pm then?”

“No problem,” he stutters. 

“Brilliant! See you next Wednesday from 5:30 to 7:30. Would you mind telling the secretary on your way out?”

“Sure,” he nods and stumbles out of her office in an apparent daze. 

The second the door whooshes shut, Rey falls to her chair and gasps for air. Glancing at her hand, a wave of remorse and shame crashes over her; she almost reached out and touched him. She nearly fell into a lawsuit for a pair of pretty eyes.

 

* * *

Ben braces himself against the cream wall right outside the door to her office. Ducking his head to hide the smile stretching across his face, he unlocks his phone and glances at the notifications: two texts from Hux, five texts from Phasma, and a message from his mother. He rolls his eyes and groans when he notices a missed call from Snoke. Wincing, he hits re-dial. 

“Why didn’t you answer my call? Do you not care about your job? You know that there are thousands who would leap at the opportunity to take your place,” lectures Snoke. It feels like spiders are walking along Ben’s spine.

He grimaces and chokes out a response, “Sorry, I was in a meeting.”

“I didn’t okay any meetings with clients for you at this time…” 

“It wasn’t that sort of meeting.”

“Then prey tell, dear boy, what type of meeting was it?” Snoke tuts. Ben envisions Snoke drumming his long, slim fingers against his scarlet desk. He shivers. 

“Psychologist…” he chokes. Ben hears a sharp intake of breath over the line. 

“Why would you need to go to a psychologist? Are you weak, boy?” Now, he notes bemusement in Snoke’s voice, as if the elderly man just won a bet. 

“... Anger management,” Ben mumbles, looking around frantically and scrubbing his free hand across the back of his neck. 

Luckily, the hallway appears deserted: just himself, the wooden floors, and these bare cream walls occasionally interjected with pieces of abstract art. His eyes flicker to Rey’s door. He can’t hear any sound coming out of it, so hopefully she won’t hear this conversation. Shame squeezes his lungs, choking Ben.  

“Your rage is the only useful thing about you. It’s the instrument that has led to your so-called success,” chides Snoke. 

The phone clicks. Rage tears through Ben. He snarls. His hands itch. He raises his hand over his head to chuck his phone against the floor and relish in the act of destroying something, but then a lightning strike of rationality stops him. His eyes drift to Rey’s door and he lowers his hand, choosing to shove his phone into his pants pocket. Shaking his head, Ben rolls his eyes and chuckles to himself. She reduces him to this state. He’s some lovesick puppy, tripping over himself just to make her smile. 

* * *

Slamming open the glossy black door, Ben’s eyes soon land on Phasma’s ghostly white head and Hux’s candle flame-colored one. After taking a moment to appreciate the gleaming black interior with scarlet embellishments that practically ooze wealth in an obvious attempt to intimidate and deter unwanted clients, he stomps over to the devilish duo.

Phasma quirks a brow, sipping on her drink, and measuring him with her eyes. Slumping onto the stool next to her, he ignores Hux’s question, and beckons for a whiskey on the rocks. Nodding, the skinny, brunette, male bartender rushes over with Ben’s drink clutched in his shaking hand.

Ben nearly growls, but puffs out an indignant breath of air instead. The bartender rushes away to clean a few sparkling glasses. Ben hears Phasma giggling besides him and rolls his eyes. Hux snorts next to her.

“Bad session?” she asks. 

“Wonderful.” Ben savors the word, recreating the scene of Rey opening up to him and talking about her past. 

“Then how come you’re still such an ass?” asks Hux. 

He pops Ben’s daydream and just smirks when Ben clenches his jaw. Hux takes a swig of craft beer. Ben glares at the label, and raises an eyebrow to challenge Hux on his hipster bullshit. The ginger shrugs, still smirking. Ben takes a swig of his drink and slams the glass down onto the gleaming, black counter. 

The whiskey burns his throat; he relishes the pain.

“Well, if she fixed me in one session, I wouldn’t have an excuse to keep going back, would I?” counters Ben through clenched teeth. 

“You can’t be serious?” sputters Hux, nearly spitting out his drink. 

Phasma rolls her eyes and smirks, squeezing Hux’s hand. Hux’s eyes flicker to her, and he plants a lingering kiss on her pale cheek. 

Ben exhales slowly, counting to ten, and telling himself to ignore the acidic burn of jealousy in the back of his throat. During moments like these, he feels like an anonymous moviegoer observing the love lives of Hux and Phasma on the silver screen. 

Usually, Ben doesn’t mind the confirmation of his isolation. 

He’s always walked alone, separated from the rest of his peers by a plexiglass barrier. He used to strike out, kicking and screaming, trying to crack that stubborn barricade. Eventually, his voice grew hoarse and his hands became bleeding stumps. He learned to accept the silence. He donned his loneliness like armor and hid his tears behind a mask of his fury. However, this time, when he sees Hux kiss Phasma, he imagines himself leaning down and kissing Rey’s tanned cheek and his heart flutters. 

For the first time in a long time, Ben feels hope.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! In honor of France winning the world cup, here's a new chapter! Croatia fought hard, but I would have been disowned if I didn't cheer for France. (joking... mainly)
> 
> It's been awhile since I updated, but I plan to update regularly on Mondays. (Life will happen and I might update either on Tuesday or Wednesday instead some weeks.) 
> 
> As a shitty excuse for why this is so late, I moved (again) and then needed to do a visa run, so now I've moved in and am in the process of settling into a new flat in a new country. 
> 
> I hope that you all like this chapter! If you do, please just take a minute or two to comment. These motivate me to keep writing and really mean so much. Usually (not for this fic, since I've been traveling and moving) I reply to comments immediately. Now that I've finally settled in, I'm going to start replying to all your lovely comments. Thank you everyone for your kind comments, sweet kudos, and just taking the time to read this currently smut-less trash. Thank you all!
> 
> Feel free to dm me on Tumblr. When the wifi works, I reply. 
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/judelittlewanderer 
> 
> Thank you all!


	4. Chapter 4

 

Resting her head on the arm of Maz’s rag-tag, patchwork sofa, Rey lazily opens one eye to observe the petite, black woman with coke-bottle glasses magnifying her disconcertingly large, amber eyes. Maz chuckles, cracking her knuckles, and leaning towards Rey practically buzzing with anticipation. Clearing her throat, Rey shuffles through her thoughts and tugs out an easy enough conversation opener. 

“I got some new patients.”

“Hmm?” Maz raises an eyebrow, puckers her lips, and jots something down in her tan, leather notebook. 

“A family… They’re good people, but terrible communicators. I know I can’t give away details, but… It’s always sad, you know? Seeing this family that should get along. They have all the cosmetic things they need: health, money, careers, etcetera. But… sometimes you can have all the ingredients for happiness and still be miserable. Anyway...They have a child. He’s an adult, actually… Umm… But he’s still hurting so much. He’s so lonely.”

“Hmm?” Maz pauses in her writing to glance up at Rey. 

“I just… I feel for him. That sort of loneliness… It’s so easy to drown,” Rey shudders and plays with the sleeve of her blouse. 

“You see yourself in him?”  Maz tilts her head and squints at Rey from her plush chair. 

“...Yes…” Rey chokes out, her mind flickering to Ben’s sad eyes. She sits up, and her hands tighten around the arms of the sofa. 

“You’ve always focused on the past, but I feel the belonging you seek is here, in the present,” explains Maz. 

Rey nods, biting her cheek. Maz’s words of wisdom often sound like the sorts of lyrical musings she reads on the slips of paper found in fortune cookies. This time though, the weight of them falls onto Rey’s shoulders with the certainty of a prophecy. Rey mulls over the idea of finding belonging in her present surroundings. She swallows, her throat suddenly dry. Blinking, she swears she just saw a pair of melancholy, expresso eyes in a parchment-pale face. 

* * *

 

Rey’s electric kettle starts to whistle just as the door to her office creaks open and Ben slips into the room. She glances over her shoulder, offers a sheepish smile, then plucks a tea bag from the tin, plops it into her yellow mug, and pours piping hot water into the same mug. Ben watches the entire time with a bemused glint in his eyes and the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. She huffs and clucks her tongue.

“You always arrive at the most inopportune of times,” she chides, but her smile gives her away, so Ben just rolls his eyes and points to the clock. “Alright, you were exactly on time. I just wasn’t prepared. My previous session went a bit overtime,” she rambles. 

Ben just smiles back at her. Her face warms and she gulps. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Ben purses his lips, glances at the cup, then slowly nods. Holding back a groan at the creeping fear that they’ll have another session of her trying to read his mind, Rey focuses instead on making him a cup of tea.

“So, how did it go?” she asks.

Ben clears his throat and finally replies, “What?”

“The homework? Did you talk to that person?” Rey fumbles about for her notebook. A strange look flickers in Ben’s eyes. He wets his lips, then nods slowly. 

    “What sorts of questions did you ask? Did the individual reply? How did it go?”  Rey takes a sip of tea, burning her tongue in the process. She winces, then forces a smile when Ben leans forward, as if to offer her aid. 

“Similar ones… To what I asked you. Uh, she replied.” He pauses and meets her eyes before continuing, “I think it went well. She had really interesting responses.” 

“That’s wonderful!” 

“It was… Nice. To learn more about her. She’s fascinating… And… She’s kind. She had a tough childhood, but she doesn’t let that hold her back. She works so hard to help others,” Ben rants, his eyes burning bright at the thought of his mystery girl. 

“She sounds like a wonderful person,” Rey nods, feeling happy that Ben’s crush could potentially provide a much needed positive interpersonal connection in Ben’s life. Judging by Ben’s shyness, the tempestuous state of his parent’s marriage, and the grumblings she’s heard about his boss, he clearly needs someone in his life who’ll listen to him and show him that he does matter. 

“She is,” he interrupts.

“You should try to keep talking with her, get to know her, become friends,” Rey continues. Ben gulps, his eyes widening. 

“I don’t think she’d want that…” he mumbles, looking out the window and refusing to meet Rey’s eyes.

“Nonsense, you’ve barely spoken with her. You’re too hard on yourself,” Rey gushes. Ben blinks, leaning back in his chair and mulls over what she just said.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice husky and hopeful.  

“Of course. Get to know her outside of the office. Grab a coffee with her. It’s a nice, casual way to get to know someone.”

“Coffee?” He stares at her inquisitively. Rey gulps. She fiddles with her pen for a few moments to settle her racing heart. 

“Yep, coffee. There’s this silly little trick….” she pauses. 

“What is it?” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. In this position, she doesn’t need to crane her neck to stare into his bottomless eyes.  

“It’s just this stupid little trick really... But, during my Bachelor’s I worked at this coffee shop, and I saw a lot of first dates and the like. Anyway, umm… just pay attention to how quickly she drinks her coffee. If she rushes to finish and then sprints out of there, then she’s just not that into you.” 

Ben nods, attentively, his eyes flicker to the floor as he absorbs her words. 

 “Of course, that’s just one potential reason. Everyone is different, and I encourage open and frank communication, but, when you’re just getting to know someone, sometimes it can be difficult,” Rey rambles. 

Ben chuckles and the sound ricochets around her ribs, until it lodges itself firmly in her heart. 

Having waded through the shallows, Rey and Ben dip into deeper conversational waters. They trawl through tough topics with a steady persistence. Ben explains just how empty a house can feel: walking barefoot down echoing halls and reading hastily scrawled notes. 

He laughs mirthlessly and shows her a burn on his wrist from what he deems an early kitchen fiasco. Then, he swallows glass and chokes out how even to this day, he shivers during thunderstorms. They remind him of his parents: an electric spark that ultimately leaves him shivering from the cold. 

Eventually, time runs out and Rey throws down an anchor, ceasing their progression. Ben wets his lower lip, blinking with the frantic confusion of a dreamer waking in an unfamiliar bed. He blushes and bobs out of the door. Rey finds herself floundering in his absence. 

* * *

  
  


A bell tinkles as he ducks into the cramped coffee shop. Ben glances about, hands tightening around his notebook when his eyes catch sight of three chestnut buns bent over a book. His heart does an Irish jig. He drags his eyes away from her, and he stumbles towards the counter. Some twenty-something with shadows under her eyes gives a prozac-fueled grin and asks for his order. Ben forces something out, then sneaks a look over his shoulder.

The girl clears her throat and stares pointedly at Ben. He blinks. She waits. Then he notices the white numbers pasted on the cash register and shoves his credit card at the girl. His ears feel warm. Ben holds back a groan of embarrassment. Peeling open his wallet, he plucks out a few dollars bills with shaking hands and shoves them into the nearly empty tip jar. 

As the girl, whose name tag reads Sarah, hands him his coffee her eyes crinkle in the corners when she smiles. Ben nods, then takes a breath and strolls towards Rey with Hollywood-fake casualness. Sarah whisper-shouts good luck and Ben debates running out of the shop and saving himself from inevitable embarrassment.

Then, Rey looks up and her sunlight-through-spring-green-leaves eyes meet his. Ben’s heart sputters to a stop, proving itself even less reliable than his father’s obstinate trash car.

His anxiety scrubs the conversation he practiced in front of the mirror before shaving right out of his head.

Ben blinks, wishing for some remnants of his speech to show up on the backs of his eyelids. They remain blank. Rey’s eyes widen, then she gestures to the chair across from her own. 

Ben nods and squeezes his coffee cup a tad too tightly. The lid pops off and scalding liquid burns his hand. Ben grimaces; his hand hurts and he looks like a dork. Rey seems to absorb the situation and rushes to the barista. 

Ben slumps into the chair across from her vacated one and idly feels grateful that he almost exclusively wears black. Otherwise, he’d look like the clumsy fool who spilt coffee all over himself, which he is, but he doesn’t want Rey to remember that every time she glances at him over her cup of coffee. 

Rey hovers over him with a cup full of ice. He forces a smile and hopes she doesn’t notice how particularly red his ears most undoubtedly have become. Placing the ice-filled cup on top of his minor burn does dim the sensation of flames licking his skin, so he gives her a genuine grin when she sits down across from him.  Rey looks so concerned that his heart, yet again, stops. 

If he plans to keep orchestrating these improvised meetings with her, then he ought to start dragging along a crash cart, because one day that smile of hers really will give him a heart attack. 

Something about talking with Rey seems to make his surroundings disappear. The coffee shops fades into a blur of yellows and browns. He can only see her: those bright eyes, that dimpled smile, the dusting of freckles across her tan skin. He barely notes the hum of various voices in the background. 

Instead, he fixates on Rey’s crisp British accent and the ebb and flow of conversation between them. She seems more relaxed here, out of the office. She laughs and her eyes dance. Ben keeps having to take sips of his coffee as an excuse for losing his train of thought. He wishes that he didn’t need to orchestrate this entire incident. 

He glances at the notebook, swallowing a wave of guilt. Then his eyes flicker up to Rey. 

“What have you got there?” She tilts her head and something about the angle and her smile makes the ever-present twisting snake of anxiety coiling around his innards still. 

“Just a journal… It helps,” he shrugs, hoping she’ll let it go at that. 

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” she beams. “Journaling is a wonderful method to constructively channel your negative emotions. Are you using it to help with your anger managment? I was actually thinking about suggesting that to you after your mother brought up how you used to like writing when younger,” she trails off, looking at her drink and taking a hasty sip. 

Her smile no longer reaches her eyes. 

“You never take a break, do you?” Ben teases. 

“Sorry, I should go. I shouldn’t be here. You’re a client,” she blinks and shakes her head. 

The action reminds Ben of erasing an etch-a-sketch. 

Rey starts to tuck her belongings into her bag. 

Desperation fuels him. He reaches out and his hand nearly grazes her own. 

“Wait!” 

“Ben…” she sighs.

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with two people who know each other just casually talking over coffee, right? It’s not like we planned this.” He frantically fumbles for excuses. 

Guilt burns a hole in his stomach. 

“I guess,” she nods, biting her lip. 

“Plus, it helps me.”

“I’m not following.” Her eyes narrow and she tucks her book into her brown leather messenger bag. 

“You know,” he sighs and scratches his scalp. “I have a hard time just sitting in a chair and opening up about this stuff.” Ben shrugs, glaring at his drink and wishing it would speak for him. “This… This helps.” 

“Oh.” Rey blinks, then a small smile forms and she nods.

“Please, stay,” he mumbles, hoping his ears haven’t turned fire-truck red yet.  

“Alright.” Her shoulders relax and she sinks back into her chair. 

“Thanks.” The words stick in his throat, but he forces them out anyway. 

“So, what brought you here?” she chuckles. 

“I just wanted to try something new. I needed to change my surroundings,” he shrugs, faking nonchalance. 

“Hmm…?” Of course she’d realize he wasn’t telling her the whole story. 

He grapples for an explanation. Instead, his mind remains a static screen practically vibrating with anxiety. He can’t exactly tell her that ever since she lectured him in the middle of that grocery store, he’s hoped to see her again, and, eventually, he grew impatient enough to stop waiting around for some fated encounter and instead started making educated guesses about how to find her. 

No, that sounds weird, and obsessive.  Correction, it is weird and obsessive.

She’d recommend he go see a shrink if he told her the truth. But she is his shrink, which makes everything worse. 

Part of him considers asking to see a new psychologist, but the rest of him knows that those two-hour sessions are the only reason Rey is sitting here and talking with him at this very moment. 

If she weren’t his therapist, he’d never see her again. 

She saw his flaws the second he first opened his mouth in Takodana’s, and he doubts she’d willingly associate with someone like him if she weren’t being paid to do so. 

Ben nearly groans. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and glances up at her. Something flickers in Rey’s eyes. She takes a sip of her drink, seeming to savor his growing discomfort, but then shrugs and casually rolls her eyes. 

“Nevermind” she murmurs. 

“Thanks,” he sighs, slumping into the plush chair. Clearing this throat, Ben flips through the list of conversation openers he’s rehearsed during his daily commute for the last week. 

“So, do you come here often?” Oh god, that sounds like a lame pick-up line. Technically, it is exactly that, but he brainstormed at least twenty options and this dribble fell out of his mouth instead. Rey snorts.

“It’s good we bumped into each other like this,” she laughs. “I can help you practice for when you ask that girl out for coffee.”

One day the irony will kill him. He nearly laughs, but forces a sheepish grin and nods. 

“You can do better than that, Ben. The girl deserves more than a cliche pick-up line,” Rey teases, taping him in the shin with her shoe and scrunching her nose thoughtfully. Ben swallows. 

“You’re right. She deserves more,” he sighs tugging at his hair yet again. Rey quirks a brow, pointing out his tick. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she states, her eyes boring into his. 

“It’s true though.”

“Ben.”

“It is.” His jaw clenches. 

He reaches for his drink, but falters. Rey hesitates, then reaches out and touches his hand. Suddenly he can only hear his pulse and the roaring rush of blood to the head, louder than the surf of a choppy sea.

Her hand feels comfortingly warm. Rey blinks, looking at their hands, and then withdraws her’s quickly. Tendrils of chestnut hair escape her tidy bun and turn gold in the evening light.

“Ben, I was teasing you. Sure, you have flaws, but we all do. I have my fair share of issues. You are a wonderful person. You just hide that goodness behind intimidation and snark.” Rey seems to ponder the words, tasting each before letting them fall from her lips.

These words have an odd weight. They hang in the air, and yet simultaneously smack into him and burst like water balloons, drenching him in discovery.

Ben treads through the statement, then shakes his head in disbelief. The light turns her hair into a gleaming halo, and yet she claims to have flaws. 

Ben snorts,  “You… Have flaws?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t see it,” he states. 

Squinting, he inspects her. Part of him hopes to see cracks along the surface, but he considers the act futile. 

“Fine…Umm…” Rey looks out the window, then down at her hands. 

“Told you,” Ben says. 

“No, no! Wait. I just needed to organize my thoughts,” she rushes. Taking a breath, Rey continues, “Alright, I have quite the temper. I have a difficult time accepting help from others and often I’m so independent that I seem indifferent.” She pauses, crossing and uncrossing her hands in her lap. 

“I usually have a difficult time opening up to people, and, to top it all off,  I have abandonment issues. There are more, but I really shouldn’t tell you all of this,” she sighs. “People don’t exactly like finding out their therapist is just as messed up as they are,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“It’s actually reassuring.” He slumps against the back of his chair, processing it all. He mulls over the words, looking for instances in which Rey acted like she just stated. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve worked through all these feelings. You understand it.” Ben blinks, looking up at Rey. Shadows flicker across her face, leaving it half-illuminated in golden evening glow and half shrouded in the dark. 

“Thanks. I never actually thought of it that way.” She smiles, relaxing in her seat, and tucking a stray strand of hair from her disheveled bun. 

“So, abandonment issues?” He quirks a brow painting a practiced smirk across his face. 

“I’d say it’s pretty predictable: the foster kid convinced her parents will one day come for her.”

“We all need something to believe in to get us through the day.”

“So what do you have?”

“You mean?” Ben leans forward, his knee bumps the coffee table, but he holds back his grimace. 

Rey moves closer as well, and Ben envisions the two of them huddled together over a campfire whispering secrets through the night with only the stars as their witnesses. He bites his lip and squeezes his temples. 

“My grandfather. I never met him, but I liked to pretend that I could talk to his ghost. It helped me get through a lot of tough times, especially since the rest of my family either didn’t seem to care or were calling me a monster behind my back.” 

“Perhaps you misheard them?” Rey’s nose scrunches with concern. She tilts her head to the side with narrowed eyes, and Ben practically sees the cogs in her head turning. The image tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

He can’t seem to stop smiling around her. She clears her throat, and he shakes his head to dislodge his daydreams. 

“Doubtful. My uncle called me one straight to my face once,” he spits out the acrid words. Running a hand through his hair for the upteenth time, Ben rests his elbows on his knees. “God, this is not casual coffee conversation. What are we doing?”

“We aren’t casual people,” Rey states simply. 

Another tendril of hair falls across her face.

Rolling her eyes, she pulls her hair out of its bun and runs her fingers through it before meeting his gaze.

“Stop overthinking things. Flow is flow. Besides, being open and talking about serious matters like this will make your mystery girl feel special. She’ll like it. If she doesn’t, perhaps she isn’t the right girl for you? You’re intense. You need someone who likes that.” Rey laughs, and Ben forgets to breathe. 

Chuckling, he plods on, following her lead. “So, I’m screwed?”

“Stop being pessimistic. Plenty of girls love the whole sexy Byronic thing. Who didn’t dream of her own Darcy when younger?” Rey bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes and the curtain of shoulder-length hair separating them. 

Liquid fire flows through Ben’s veins and he swallows. 

“Did you?”

“Did I what?” She narrows her eyes, smirking at him with a glint. 

“Want to marry Mr. Darcy?” He tries to feign indifference and reaches absently for his coffee. His bouncing knee probably gives him away though. Rey blinks, her jaw dropping and cheeks blushing. 

“I was twelve! You can’t hold me accountable for that!” She leans towards the window, but she watches him out of the corner of her eye.  

“Do you still want to?” Ben fights the urge to check that his hair covers his undoubtedly scarlet ears.  

“I don’t think about marriage anymore,” Rey shrugs, some unspoken joke making her chuckle. Ben freezes and ice water flows through his veins. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a particularly good track record when it comes to dating.” She grimaces, twisting a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Yes?” Rey straightens and glances up at him. Then understanding dawns in her eyes and her entire face brightens to Christmas ribbon red. She shakes her head, raising her hands up defensively. 

“Oh no… You’re not making me talk about this. It’s, oh god, it’s mortifying.” She hides her face in her hands, still shaking her head. 

“It can’t be that bad.” Ben thinks of his own dating failures: all a long line of  stretched silences, horrible hugs, expectant eyes. 

“More hilarious, really.” She chuckles to herself. 

“I’m not a patient man.” 

As soon as the words fall from his lips, Ben tenses. 

He fucked up, and the hammering of his heart and twisting snake in his stomach anticipate Rey’s fury. She sears him with a glare and he nearly winces.

Her nostrils flare, and for a minute Ben understands why deer freeze when staring into piercing car lights. 

Then, Rey looks away and exhales loudly. She takes another deep breathe and nods to herself. 

“That isn’t how you convince someone to open up, Ben.”

“Please?”  His voice comes out husky and smooth. Rey watches him through narrowed eyes, then relaxes. 

“Better.” Rey blows a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, then takes a deep breath. “Well, I think my most hilarious dating failure was Matt. He was tall, blonde, and a tad awkward, but in an endearing way. He played basketball, and he always talked about this other guy on the team, Kyle I think. Iassumed they were just friends and that Matt looked up to Kyle or whatever his name is. In hindsight, I should have realized Matt was gay when he started obsessing over Kyle’s eight-pack…”

“Wait, how’d you find out then?” Ben blunders, trying to imagine the scene. 

“In the most cliche way possible, of course. I walked in on them having sex,” Rey states between fits of giggles. 

“Oh.” He blinks, envisioning two men entangled in passion on a too-small-for-proper-sex sized dorm bed with cheap sheets thrown in a heap on the floor and the thud of a door and Rey’s gasp. 

“Yeah.” Rey nods. 

“Alright, and?”

“You really want another failed dating experience?”

“It makes my own failures seem less pathetic,” he teases.  Her cheeks turn pink for a second, but then Rey rolls her eyes. 

“Wow, thanks,” she scoffs.  “Alright, I started dating this guy who was really sweet and funny. We got on well, so we both figured we’d try dating. A month later, he realized he was gay and we decided to just stay friends. In hindsight, it’s probably good that he’s gay.” She looks down at her cup and takes a quick sip. 

“A lot of your dating failures end with these men being gay.” Ben holds back laughter. Rey fakes a bow and smirks back. 

“What can I say, my utter lack of curves is the transition to accepting that they just aren’t into women.” Ben hears the chink of a complex and stops himself from reaching out to her. 

“That’s not…”

“It’s alright. I was joking,” she laughs. 

It sounds fake and superficial, like plastic, instead of her usual bass belly-laughter. 

“Why was it better that you both broke up so soon?”

“He’s my best friend. If we dated any longer than a measly month, then when we broke up, it probably would have ruined our friendship.” She shrugs. 

Ben nods, “That’s… A good point.”

“What about you?” 

“Me?” he sputters, desperately backtracking. 

“Come on, stop playing sly. Tell me an embarrassing dating failure.” Rey leans towards him. Her blouse hugs her athletic figure and Ben’s head swims.  

“Uh…Most are pretty boring, you know? A girl would ask me out, we would go on a few dates, and then she’d awkwardly end it claiming she’d hope we could stay friends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Rey murmurs, leaning back.

“It’s alright. Most girls apparently aren’t into dating Darcy afterall,” he barks. 

“You’ll find your Elizabeth someday.” She smiles so wistfully, full of hope for him, yet sparring none of it for herself. A hand squeezes Ben’s heart. A sticky substance seems to lodge in his throat. He swallows, trying to force words out of his mouth, but instead he sits there, gaping like a fish on land. 

“I hope I already found her.” 

“Really? This mystery girl sounds special.” She sounds so excited for him. 

His heart plummets. The words smash into him, and he leans back, feeling like a survivor of some brutal car crash. 

“She is,” he whispers, looking at Rey, his so-called mystery girl herself, and wondering if one day she’ll care enough to walk down this path with their arms looped together, instead of sending him into the arms of another. 

“Good, you deserve happiness,” she states. Her eyes flicker to her cup and she bites her lip, glancing up at him for a second, before her eyes flicker down again. 

She fiddles with her cellphone for a few seconds, but her eyes widen and she jumps out of her chair and tosses her messenger bag across her shoulder.

“Oh, shit! I’m late. I forgot. Oh, I got to go! I’m so sorry! This was fun! Good luck with mystery girl! Bye!” 

Rey races out the cafe, leaving him stunned. Ben glances down at his watch and realizes that two hours just passed. He looks up, taking in the warm wooden walls and evening hustle and bustle.  


Shrugging off the vague sense of having woken up from a dream or walked out of Shakespeare’s forest on a midsummer night, Ben opens his notebook and circles the cafe’s name. 

Third time’s the charm.  

 

* * *

 

Rey sprints up the stairs. Her heavy footfalls reverberate and it sounds like an army laying siege to her apartment complex. She reaches her floor and stops, panting with her hands resting on her knees in order to grab a few lungfuls of breath. Then she cracks open the door and steps into the hallway.   


Rustling for her keys, she finally feels metallic coolness and grabs wildly. Muted music pours into the hallway and Rey grimaces, then she shoulders the door open and steps inside. 

“Guys, we can’t play the music that loud. Remember last time?” She grumbles, sliding her bag off of her shoulder and plopping it on the kitchen counter. 

“Oh please, that old bat moved out two months ago,” Poe scoffs, rolling his eyes. He smirks at her, then turns up the speakers. 

“So?”

“So, it doesn’t matter. God, get that stick out of your ass, Rey. Anyway, someone’s late…” Poe waggles his eyebrows for emphasis while rubbing his hands together. The boy does love his gossip. 

“Yeah, I lost track of time.”

“Did you remember to pick up some Yuenglings?” asks Finn from the couch. 

“Shit, no. I forgot,” she sighs. Rose twists to look at Rey from over the back of the sofa and sends her a sympathetic smile before plopping back to her spot besides Finn. 

“Hmm… You seem pretty shaken up. Did our Tinder Queen finally catch feelings?” teases Poe. He stretches, reaching for a slice of pizza. 

“Poe, could you not?” Rey walks up to the empty loveseat, refusing to try and wiggle her way between the love-triangle trio currently sitting on the couch. 

“What, it’s true,” he shrugs. 

“I bumped into a friend,” she grumbles. Poe just nods. 

“A friend you have feelings for,” he states the same way one may announce that it’s raining or that the sun comes up in the east. 

“I can’t… I mean, I don’t have feelings for him. Now someone please give me a slice of pizza,” Rey grumbles, reaching out for the box. Rose slides the box her way, then shoots a glances towards Finn. He hunches over the remote, mashing buttons until the Netflix logo appears on the television screen. Poe continues to watch Rey with those knowing eyes of his. She stiffles the impulse to smack him. 

“Fine, but in a month you’ll be dragging him to the Resistance and introducing him to us as your boyfriend.” 

“That will never happen,” Rey sighs. A rock seems lodged in her throat, she tries to swallow down the jagged thing, but the action tears her throat to shreds. 

“That’s what they all say, peanut. I’m with Poe on this,” laughs Finn. He leans back satisfied with his choice of television show. Then he awkwardly stretches, using it as an excuse to drape his arm across Poe’s shoulders. Rey rolls her eyes at the grade-school antics.   

“Just shut-up and let me enjoy my pizza in peace,” she growls, finally pulling a piece out of the box. They sink into silence, each friend sculling through his or her own thoughts. 

As the television blares and the laugh-track plays, they each force out mechanic laughs a few seconds too late. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading this. Wow... look at me go. I finally settle on a posting date (every Monday!), and then I'm late. However, because I was late to post, I decided to treat you all! So, I gave you lovely readers an extra-long chapter. I hope you all enjoy this. 
> 
> One warning.... this wasn't beta'd this time. (I'll probably either go back and proof-read it myself or rope a friend into doing it and then upload the edited version later). To be frank, if I re-read my own fanfic writing, then I would probably never have the confidence to post it, so I don't. It makes it easier to lie to myself and pretend this is decent. (kidding). 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Please, comment and give kudos. I say this a lot, but it really does motivate me to keep posting. Otherwise, I would just leave this on a google doc and never look at it again... *cough most of my non-fanfic writing cough*


	5. Chapter 5

Rey unfurls her grey yoga mat, smiling at the middle-aged woman next to her who always shows up exactly two minutes early with a fuschia and turquoise paisley mat. The soccer mom grins back with prozac peppiness, while tightening her blonde ponytail. Rey glances up at the front of the room, eyeing Luke as he messes around with the patched up radio. Luke clears his throat and the general chatter that clattered around the room lowers to an electric hum of voices.

As Luke begins to lead them through their opening meditation, the door slams open with a bang and a swear. Straightening up, Luke brushes invisible dust off his spotless white tank-top and turns to the door.

“Again, Bertha? Must you always arrive late?” he sighs.

The curvy brunette grins and mock-salutes Luke with a saucy wink for added measure.

“Would it be me if I were on time?” she launches back, then saunters over to the open space beside Rey.

Rolling her eyes, Bertha laughs, “He should try raising three children and a husband, then we’ll see how often he’s on time.”

Rey snickers from resting child pose.

Grumbling, Luke walks back to his radio and hits the play button. Nothing happens. He sighs, saying something under his breath, then bangs the radio. Generic, albeit tinny, seaside sounds pour from the speakers. Rey glances over at Bertha, who rolls her eyes and grins back at Rey.

“Ever heard of the top forty?” she mutters.

Rey snorts, falling from downward dog, and pretending she intended to slide into resting child pose again. Luke looks up from downward dog, glaring at the two of them.

Bertha just rolls her eyes. “He really just needs to get laid,” she mutters.

Rey nods frantically. Luke clears his throat, his gaze searing a hole through her head.

“You’d think we were at a yoga retreat or something,” Rey agrees.

“Exactly! You’d think after fifty-years, the man would learn to take himself a little less seriously. You know, laugh a little? Stop being a cliche. He’s teaching soccer moms, not Buddhist monks,” Bertha rants.

“Please, he’d have to take the stick out of his ass first. You know, I had to prove myself just to join this class. At first he refused to accept me,” Rey groans.

Bertha smirks and shakes her head. “Let me guess, he made you do three trial lessons to determine if you were worthy. He does that to everyone. Some guys just need the ego boost.” She rolls her eyes and slides back into her pose.

The hour passes with Luke’s dispassionate tones calling out positions like one might read the ingredients label and the constant chatter of gossip. Rey silently takes it all in, learning about how Suzy’s daughter decided to play tennis instead of soccer this year, and Betty’s boy wants to learn ballet. Smiling to herself, Rey loses herself to the rhythm of breathing, the aching stretch of her muscles, and the warm burn of holding a pose.

Beside her, Bertha continues commenting about the lesson, reminding Rey of watching a particularly tongue-in-cheek director’s commentary for an extremely boring film. Someone really should just pay Bertha to come here regularly. Her sarcasm cuts the edge off of Skywalker’s surly silences.

* * *

 

Ben strolls into the office, clutching his coffee mug and shouldering his laptop bag. It’s all jagged edges, monochromatic colors, and gleaming surfaces. Ben wonders if Snoke specifically designed the place in hopes of some poor klutz cutting himself on a particularly sharp corner or going blind thanks to the intensified reflection of the sun on any of the polished surfaces.

He laughs humorlessly and takes a swig of coffee. Then, Ben’s eyes meet Phasma’s gaze. She looks up from her PC and pointedly looks towards Snoke’s office. Sighing, he slumps towards the office, and his apprehension rises with each step. Phasma sends him a sympathetic smile, then turns back to her PC and starts clattering away on the keyboard. Pushing open the steel door, Ben ducks into the room.

Snoke leans forward in his leather chair, his hands tense and eyes hungry. Those pale blue eyes crackle, searing Ben to the spot. Gulping, Ben bows his head, ignoring the blood red interior and samurai swords lining the walls. Snoke clears his throat and beckons for Ben to step closer with one crooked finger. Ben does so, willing his head to stay down.

Those eyes will burn through all his defenses, leaving his secrets lying open and bare. Ben grimaces. Snoke chuckles, leaning back and regarding Ben with narrowed eyes the pale blue of a cloudless winter sky.

“You are unfocused. Distracted,” he hisses.

His long fingers drum against the obsidian desk. Snoke’s heavy golden rings glint. Ben thinks of shifting scales shining under the harsh desert sun. Ben nods, choking down his words. The edges of his vision turn as scarlett as the walls of Snoke’s office.

“You nearly lost that case. I did not hire you to lose. I hired you to win by any means necessary,” Snoke’s voice raises with each spat-out word, his anger rising into a crescendo.

Ben flinches, his hands jerk forward, but he stops himself. At his side, his hands form into two fists.

“Have I not taught you well, my apprentice? I promise you a partnership at this firm once you have paid your dues, and, yet you dare disgrace me?” Snoke sneers, causing the puckered scar tissue bisecting his face to twist and morph.

“When I first met you. I saw the power of your legacy. I saw potential. You could be the next Vader. Instead, all I see before me is a boy wearing his grandfather’s legacy like a mask,” Snoke spits.

The words drip from his mouth, burning Ben like acid. Wincing, he bites his lip to hold back his rearing anger. His hands clench and he trembles with rage before Snoke.

The man scoffs, “You are dismissed.”

Ben strides out of the room, muffling his emotions until he hears the click of the door behind him. Then the world turns red. He snarls, grabbing the nearest chair and smashing it into the ground. Whirling around, he punches the wall. Panting, he twists towards a nearby desk. His hands itch. His blood roars in his ears. He can hear only his heartbeat and the high-tide of his anger battering against all rationality. His mind buzzes, a beehive of indignancy.

Ben dissolves, sinking deeper and deeper into his rage.

* * *

 

Rey glances up at the clock, then looks down at her phone. Shrugging, she hits the lever on her electric kettle and sinks back into her seat. Her heart races and her stomach tightens. She idly tries to check the state of her hair via the reflective black surface of her phone, then sighs and shakes her head. Ten minutes late. She bites her lip.

Then the door smashes open and Ben crashes into the room all fire and fury. Rey relaxes when she sees the door open, then immediately tenses. Ben’s usually espresso-colored eyes now resemble burning coals. She practically imagines smoke billowing from his ears like some cartoon character.

Rey quirks a brow, then gestures for Ben to sit.

He falls into the chair with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils.

“Tea?” Rey asks, pointing to her kettle.

Ben rears back, blinking. Then he slowly nods. Rey reaches for a spare cup, then turns to look at him.

“Milk or sugar?” she asks.

He shakes his head jerkily, like a broken marionette twisting around on tangled strings.

Nodding to herself, she pours them both some tea. As the tea stems, Rey inspects Ben. His eyes dart around the room and she catches him glancing over at her on several occasions. The first time their eyes meet, he looks away and turns his undivided attention to his tea-cup.

The second time she catches him staring at her with those expresso eyes of his, she smirks and his face turns bright red. The third time, she finally decides that she’s waited long enough and clears her throat.

Ben shakes his head like a swimmer dislodging water from his ears, then he hastily sips his tea.

Rey picks up her own cup, but stops. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles.

Rey squints, inspecting him. “Do you want me to guess? I have a few theories.”

His face pales. Rey nearly chuckles, thinking back to their first meeting. “Just work,” he sighs.

Ben looks down at his hands, inspecting his palms. Rey notices the four crescent-shaped cuts in the palm of each of hand. Her hands jerk forward, but she stops herself from grabbing his hands, and pretends to adjust the tea tin instead. Ben’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, she hastily formulates a plan.

“How about we play a game?”

“Are we five?” Ben shoots back.

Her jaw snaps shut, and she glares at him for a few seconds.

“Hear me out, you don’t want to talk, but I’m being paid to listen.”

“We could listen to the sound of silence,” Ben retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Or, we could pretend to be awkward uni kids at their first house party and play twenty questions. Come on, you wish you were were as mature as a uni kid,” she teases.

Ben’s nostrils flare, but his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I wouldn’t know. I was born a sixty-year old man.” He smirks, resting one foot on his knee.

Tossing professionalism out the window, Rey taunts, “Really, you seemed permanently stuck in your teen years: all that angst and your woe-is-me attitude.”

Ben’s face goes blank, and Rey’s heart plummets. Then he cracks a smile.

“At least I’m old enough to know the world isn’t just rainbows and unicorns, kid.”

“Oh, I know. Sometimes there are leprechauns too.”

She takes a sip of tea with a straight face.

Ben seems to digest her response, then grins. “Huh, if you mean red-headed assholes, I have one I can introduce you to.”

“Eh, not my thing. I’d prefer to meet a dragon, I think,” she retorts.

Ben’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “A dragon?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“Not a unicorn?” He raises an eyebrow and taps his foot saucily.

“They breathe fire, Ben,” Rey deadpans.

“Huh. Alright, twenty questions it is,” Ben declares.

He smirks and drinks his tea. Rey rolls her eyes, trying to hold back her own grin. Cracking her neck theatrically, she pulls her hair out of its messy bun and beams up at him.

“Ready when you are, Solo.”

“Well, you know what they say, ladies first,” he retorts.

“Hmm…. You know what else they say?” She pauses, relishing how excitement warms Ben’s eyes. “Chivalry is dead.”

Clearing his throat, Ben glances at her, biting his lip in concentration.

“What was your childhood dream?” he finally asks.

Rey gulps, her mind flashing back to a faded-postcard featuring a generic island with a single palm tree.

“First. I expect truthfully answers from you,” she declares.

Ben squints, licking his lower lip. Rey tears her gaze away and takes a sip of tea.

“You do know I played this game before, right?”

“Well Ben, I don’t assume anything about your private life, especially not your social life,” she sasses.

Then panic freezes her in place, she glances up at him, fearing the look in his eyes. Luckily, Ben just shrugs it off with an amused grin.

“You missed your calling,” he states.

“Really?” She quirks a brow playfully, waiting for the punchline.

“You’re a great therapist, but you’d be a hell-of-a lawyer.”

“Better than you. That’s for sure.”

“I don’t know about that. Anyway, you’re avoiding the question.”

“Fine. My parents. I dreamed about them showing up someday. I used to rush to the door each time I heard a knock. It drove all my foster parents mad,” she sighs, trying to smother the memories.

Ben nods, then looks up at her expectantly.

“You asked a good question. I think I’ll make you answer the same one this round.” She hums.

He nods, looking away sheepishly. “When I was a kid, and keep in mind this was only when I was really young, I used to dream of eating dinner with both of my parents there and not arguing for once,” he sighs.

Rey nods, wishing she could feel shocked.

“Hmm… This is tougher than I thought. Do you have an regrets, big ones?"

Rey clears her throat, trying to summon some particularly embarrassing memory, but each one of the dozens that float to the surface has some hand in shaping her into the woman she is today. Rey shakes her head.

“No, not really. There are plenty of things that I might wish I could forget or change, but, ultimately they made me who I am, and I’m proud of myself.”

Ben stares at her wistfully. Her mind flickers back to those small red semi-circles.

Biting her lip, she decides that she’s calmed him down enough to finally broach the topic.

“So Ben, how did you get those scars?”

He straightens instantly. His propped foot slams against the floor and the violence of the act leaves her reeling. Then, she grits her teeth and waits. Ben sits straight-backed and ready to bolt, as if torn between the need to fight and the desire to fly. He looks like an adult squashed in a child’s chair.

“You noticed?”

“It’s my job to notice. Do you want to talk about it?” she edges hoping to soothe him with her voice. Ben frantically pulls at his hair.

“It was just because of work. It doesn’t…” Then his eyes meet her’s and he sighs and slumps into the chair. “My boss has high expectations for me. He sees potential in me, but I’ve been failing him. I’m supposed to live for this job, but… Lately, I’ve been torn, I guess. I haven’t just been thinking of work,” he rushes.

Rey nods, holding the question on her tongue, and waiting till Ben’s hands loosen from their fists back into calm flat plains. Eventually, Ben’s hands relax.

“Is this due to the mystery girl?” she asks.

Ben blinks, his eyes meet her’s and the coal black cracks, revealing warm amber. He seems to chew on his words, then offers a rough nod. He swallows, scratches his left knee, and clears his throat.

“It’s also due to this, to us.”

Us. The word rams into Rey, leaving her recoiling. When it comes from his lips, the word us sounds like metal: heavy and important, it falls on top of her and she can’t seem to push it away, like she might a lighter, less consequential word.

Ben looks down at his hands, now firmly planted in his lap, before he meets her gaze again. Rey notes the challenge glinting in his eyes.

_He’s daring her._

* * *

 

 Hux clears his throat, rolling his eyes, and grumbling under his breath. Ben elbows him and sinks into the booth. Looking up from her menu, Phasma sends him a smile, before going back to reading the daily specials. Ben holds back a snort. Phasma reads menus like one might analyze Faulkner.

Hux meets his gaze and nods.

“You always end up stealing her food. Maybe it’s time you got your own girlfriend for a change, Solo? Or a boyfriend. I’m not picky. Just someone.”

“Working on it,” Ben mumbles, glaring at the scrawling script.

The robust curves of the lettering bring back flashbacks of a youth spent huddled over ivory paper with a ink well to his right and a calligraphy pen in hand.

“Who’s the unfortunate soul? Snoke? You do spend an inordinate amount of time kissing his ass. I’m sure he’d be happy to put a label on things,” sneers Hux, rolling his eyes.

He grabs a nearby shot glass and tosses back the contents, grimacing and shaking his head.

Ben knocks back his drink, swallowing down his acrid responses alongside the whiskey’s bitter burn.

“No, she’s nice,” he grumbles.

The words feel light on his tongue and seem to float away, fading into the din of the bar.

“We’re happy for you. Hux might be terrible at showing it, but we’re both happy you’ve found someone,” Phasma intervenes with a sharp smile directed at Hux.

The ginger grumbles, but then nods and sends a smirk Ben’s way.

“Now, let’s order something before you two get shitfaced again and I have to drag your asses into the Uber.”

“That was one time!” exclaims Hux, his hand over his heart in mock offense.

Phasma smirks, holding up four fingers.

“Phas is right,” he states, glaring at the menu.

“I always am, and it’s taken you both long enough to realize it,” she says, smiling and hailing the waiter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter. Do you like the longer chapters, or should I shorten them? Please tell me your thoughts.
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos.


	6. Chapter 6

Slamming the car door shut, Rey grabs her canvas bags and rushes into Takodana’s Supermarket. Something about the emerald green storefront and bright yellow lights makes Rey feel like she’s lost and wandering through the forest of some malicious fairy-tale. Most days, she delights in the odd sensation of walking about in a place that seems to magically suck away the hours, but today she strides through the aisles, grabbing what she needs, and checking items off the list with a slash.

After rushing from the produce section into the international foods aisle, she hears an increasingly familiar husky, honey hello while stretching to grab a packet of premade tikka masala from the top aisle. Her fingers graze the plastic, but her fingers only touch a corner. She jumps, and hears a muffled laugh.

“Need help?”

“I’m good, thank you,” she mutters petulantly.

“I’m pretty tall. I could grab that for you. It’s no trouble,” Ben states.

He has an odd cadence to his voice; it seems to start and stop in staccato bursts. Rey’s noticed it before, but she’s usually too busy scribbling down notes and theories in her book to really pay attention to it.

“I have it, I just need…” She stretches again, trying to grab the damn thing and questioning if the mortification of not being able to reach the top shelf is worth the extra money she’ll save from not just ordering take-out, but, then her mind flashes back to those days where her stomach twisted and turned, crying out for food, and she has her answer.

“Fine, thank you.”

“Hmm… You weren’t making it up, were you?”

“Making what up?”

“Your flaws. You really are incredibly independent,” Ben murmurs with those eyes of his like amber; she feels trapped in them and can’t seem to find the will to escape.

“I don’t lie,” she snaps.

Rey taps her foot against the ground, glancing at the time on her cell phone screen and nearly swearing when she realizes she’s already spent thirty minutes here. Takodana’s lacks logic. She walks in during what feels like blaring midday and walks out to another night-sky of orange light pollution.

“That seems to denote a very black and white viewpoint of the world,” Ben teases.

“Some things are easy to understand.” Rey glances down at her list, scratching one more food item off of it with a heavy hand.

“I prefer to think of everything as grey.”

He leans forward, his soft, pink lips quirked.

She tries to force her eyes to look elsewhere.

“You would, wouldn’t you? You must lie all the time for your job,” she spits.

“Not necessarily. I’ve just witnessed truth dissolve enough hopes and dreams to respect a white lie.”

Ben holds the tikka masala out to her with a grin.

“Leia and Han?” His easy smile melts and his jaw tightens.

“Sometimes. So…” he glances around the aisle, “What brings you here?”

Rey shrugs, running a hand absently through her loose hair and debating putting it up in a ponytail or just leaving it.

“What typically brings one to a grocery store: I ran out of food.”

She grabs the pack and starts pushing her cart along, her mind racing through excuses to explain to Finn and Poe why she’s late again.

“Glad to see you still have your snark.”

“Still?” She raises a brow.

“I haven’t seen it much during our meetings.”

“I’m working. People don’t exactly appreciate their therapists sassing them.”

“Odd, I like it.”

He crosses his arms and leans nonchalantly against a wall of so-called exoctic food choices. Rey wants to argue that curry really isn’t that crazy, but she typically just bites her tongue.

“Well, you always were a weird one. Who goes to a therapist and then doesn’t talk?”

Ben blinks at her, and his ears turn fire-engine red.

Rey bites back a laugh.

“I talked,” he huffs.

“Really?”

“Yes, I said hi.”

“In your head, sure.”

“Perhaps. But, I just needed time… To open up, I guess. I’m not used to, talking and being listened to.”

He looks away and pushes himself off the aisle, choosing to inspect a box of instant curry.

“I can… Understand that,” Rey finally relents.

She pulls out her grocery list, checking off her latest acquisition. Ben blinks.

“You actually write a list?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It saves time and money.” Rey gestures to her cart.

Ben nods begrudgingly, then reaches for the list. He squints, nodding at some of the food items and grumbling about others. She lazily pretends to fight for it, but ultimately just starts pushing her cart along and allowing Ben to trail after her, reading the list aloud and giving her directions.

Internally, she continues to twist and inspect this new realization like one might a Rubix cube; Ben keeps stepping over her carefully constructed barriers and defense mechanisms as if they were merely made of legos, instead of decades of complexes.

_She can’t tell if this thrills or terrifies her._

 

* * *

 

Sipping her tea, Rey glances at the clock: five minutes after 4 pm, which means the Organa-Solos will stumble in approximately three minutes from now. Each of them will have a finger pointing at another family member with a ripe excuse falling from his or her lips. She almost laughs. They’re the closest Rey’s ever gotten to watching a family sitcom, and now Rey devours tales of the Organa-Solo hijinks like popcorn: one handful at a time.

The door crashes open, and Rey hears Leia’s cigarette-husky voice drawn taut and raising in volume. Han sputters like a race car, all growling excuses and, Rey imagines, rolled eyes. Han storms through the room, crashing onto the couch, and practically tearing off his jacket. Leia primly crosses her ankles, while scooting closer to her designated corner of the couch. Ben shuffles in silently behind them, his eyes misted with memories.

Clearing her throat, Rey glances at the thunderous Han and electrifying Leia.

“Well, how are you all?” “Fine,” Han scoffs.

His foot taps against the floor and he leans off the edge of the couch, like a racer awaiting a gunshot.

“We would be perfectly alright if he just communicated, like you so aptly recommended in our previous sessions,” Leia mutters.

Ben’s jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. Still, he remains silent. Instead, he just glares at one of the pieces of abstract art hanging on her wall. With his knees almost hitting his chest and his arms spilling out of the armchair, he looks like an adult squished in a child’s chair.

“Would you mind enlightening me about what exactly you are having the communication issue over?”

“She’s just annoyed I can’t read her damn mind,” Han cuts in.

Leia leans back and glares at him. “I don’t need him to read my mind. I just want him to listen to me. Is that so hard?” Leia beseeches Rey.

“Please, you’re comparing me to Luke and we both know it,” Han spits, leaning towards Leia.

His eye burn, and Rey hears the opening phrase of a poem she once studied chiming in her head: “Tyger, tyger burning bright”.

“Of course you aren’t Luke.”

“She says that now, but she always compares me to him, measuring us both up,” Han stops, glances at Rey, and shrugs, “I’m not some flower-power hippie. I didn’t study communications in college. Hell, I couldn’t afford college. I enlisted. Is that so damn hard for her to accept? I don’t have a fancy phd. I have my own two hands and a wrench.”

Rey nods, but focuses on keeping her face neutral. Leia kicks Han in the shin, then turns to Rey.

“He’s always playing the class card. Luke’s parents were farmers. He didn’t have money either, but he still worked his way through university.”

“See! She’s comparing me to pretty boy again!” Han jumps out of his seat and gestures to the framed degrees on Rey’s wall.

“Look what that fancy degree got him! Nothing!” He sits back down and tries to catch Rey’s eyes. “I was a pilot, the best damn pilot in the US air force.”

“He bombed children!” Leia screams.

“No, I smuggled supplies to US soldiers and extracted important individuals,” Han corrects.

“It was a needless war.”

“And how else was I going to get out? Beggars can’t be choosers, sweetheart.”

Han twists towards Leia, smirking. Leia bares her teeth.

Taking a deep breath, Rey intervenes.

It appears to her that Han feels he’s competing with Luke, who Leia habitually idealizes during rough patches in their relationship. She tries to conjure up why the name Luke feels familiar, but the connection keeps slipping through her fingers.

“Could you expound on what you meant by beggars can’t be choosers in this instance?” Rey edges in, struggling to piece together Han’s jigsaw puzzle past.

“I lived on the streets, kid,” he states gruffly.

His foot taps against the ground, and Rey notes how his left eye twitches.

Rey swallows down memories of nights spent shivering and aching for sleep and days of forcing each cement encased foot forward in an endless quest for food.

Her eyes flitter about her office, taking in the plush seating options and calming prints, and she waits for them to dissolve into a dream and to wake up as that little girl still waiting for two blurred faces she swears she’ll recognize when she sees them.

“You’ll have to excuse me, but who is Luke?” she asks, pushing down the trauma with a trademark smile.

“My uncle, her twin brother,” Ben spits. He crosses his arms and glares out the window.

Suddenly, Finn’s warnings incest make sense.

_The Organa-Solo family officially upgraded from family-sitcom to telenovela._

* * *

As the door to her office slides open, Rey pours steaming water into two mugs and readjusts her pencil skirt. Tutting at the damned thing, she bats away the wave of regret for not opting for trousers today.

Ben slouches into the chair opposite her, yet again reducing adult-sized furniture into a childish replica. She gestures to his mug and he gingerly takes a sip, then raises an eyebrow.

“I find it a calming ritual, and talking over tea feels much less stuffy.”

He nods and takes another sip.

Rey holds back a groan. She thought she’d finally gotten him to start opening up after their last session.

However, today she came prepared. She gestures to her tin of baked-just-last-night biscuits, and Ben awkwardly pries open the tin and takes one. He looks around with furrowed brows.

“Here’s a plate.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

His cheeks flush pink as he takes the ivory plate from her outstretched hand. His fingers brush against her own, and, for a moment, Rey swears she feels pins and needles radiating up her forearm.

Shaking her head, she tucks away a stray strand of her hair and takes a sip of her earl grey.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Excuse me?” He blinks, leaning back and nearly causing his chair to topple over.

“You seem pensive, and I just wondered if I could help.”

“Ah… Umm…” he runs a hand through his hair and looks about the room before sighing and shrugging.

Heart pounding, she sneaks a glance at his hands and forearms: no angry red marks today. Rey stifles her smile.

“If you don’t mind, would you care to tell me about your relationship with your uncle? I didn’t get to hear your thoughts previously.”

Ben groans and melts into the chair faster than a popsicle during an August afternoon.

He clears his throat and takes a sip of tea.

“Not much to tell anymore,” he states.

His voice falls flat and the sentence has an odd cadence. It reminds Rey of listening to a guitar with one string out of tune: not quite right, but it takes a trained ear to notice.

“Anymore?” she pries gently.

“I… Lived with him for a few years… Middle school and part of high school.”

“Alright…” she waits, letting her words hang in the air.

“My parents were fighting again. Han ran off, disappearing into thin air like he always does. Mom was busy. She was running for Senate and having a moody adolescent moping around after getting suspended for fighting didn’t exactly help her PR, so she shipped me off to Luke. And that went splendidly…” he snarls with a voice all acid and steel.

“Do you want to?”

“Not today,” he interupts.

Rey nods, circling Luke’s name in order to remind herself to talk about this more later.

“How are you today? Last time we talked you mentioned feeling stressed at work?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just… Failing. Snoke has high expectations for me, yet I can’t seem to live up to them. I’m lurking in the shadows of my grandfather’s legacy. Drowning in it…” he suddenly stops and stares up at her through the fringe of his dark eyelashes.

Rey’s heart races, and she shakily takes a sip of tea.

“I think it’s important for you to remind yourself that you don’t need to be your grandfather. You are wonderful just the way you are, as Ben. Also, it appears that instead of striving for perfection, you’re bearing the weight of its expectations on your shoulders. While it is good work hard, it’s important to accept that nothing will be perfect and not to kill yourself in the process.”

“That’s not good enough though. I’m pathetic. I’m nothing. How can I be good enough for them all when I’m like this?”

His hands clench, forming fists.

“Ben, you are good enough. You certainly aren’t pathetic,” Rey edges in calmly.

She fights the instinct to reach out and take his hand. Instead, she fumbles with her cup, while his breathing slows.

“I’m not though. I’m broken. Everyone realizes it eventually and they all leave. She’ll leave.” His voice cracks and he blinks rapidly.

His plush mouth forms a taut line. Rey blinks.

The words sear her. They burn through her skin and brand her heart.

_She stares at the face of the man before her and sees herself._

She swallows the shards of glass in her throat and chokes out the words she’s spent so many tear-stained nights aching to hear.

“You aren’t alone.”

Ben’s eyes, once anguished and cold, warm and his mouth softens into a smile. “Neither are you.”

* * *

 

 

Glaring at the television, Ben drones out Hux’s constant whine. The man reminds him of a bee hive with his constant high-pitched shrieking. Phasma smiles at him sympathetically, then pushes herself off the couch and strides towards the kitchen like a general to war.

“Honey, it’s alright if the measurements aren’t exact. I’m sure no one will notice the extra two grams of flour,” she reassures the frantic Hux, who’s running about the kitchen trying to find what he deems the perfectly sized spoon to solve this fiasco.

Ben glances at them, then starts scrolling through his contacts. Hux is practically tearing his scarlet hair out, and Phasma’s leaning over him with both hands planted on his shoulders and her thumbs rubbing calming circles on Hux’s biceps. She seems to whisper something to him, and Hux shifts from a rubber-band stretched taut and about to snap to a regular human being again, or as close as Hux can get to that. Hux and Phasma embrace just as the fire alarm begins to beep.

Sighing, Ben calls Domino’s.

                                                                                                                      …

The delivery boy greets Ben with a smile, then cheerfully hands him the pizzas.

“I figured it was you lot. Did something burn again?” he asks, chancing a glance towards the kitchen.

Phasma meets Ben’s eyes and pointedly looks at his wallet. Grumbling, he starts calculating the tip. Meanwhile, Hux frantically tries to resuscitate whatever complex French dish he fumbled through in the first place. Ben vaguely remembers something about chicken and wine and some dessert with a lot of butter and cream. He finally thumbs the correct amount, gets a glare from Phasma, and then adds another five to that.

Grabbing the awkwardly sized pizza boxes, Ben pushes a hefty tip into the boy’s hands and slams the door.

* * *

 

Finn strides back and forth across the flat. Running a hand over his trimmed scalp, he pauses and looks at Rey.

Squaring his shoulders and steeling himself, he takes a deep breath. “Are you sure he’s into me? Because, he’s a friendly person. I mean, I know he’s bi, so he could be into me, but is he? Really?” Finn rushes, not pausing for breath.

Rey pats the cushion next to her on their brown couch and waits. Finn falls into his seat and twists towards her, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her eyes.

“I mean, he’s just so wonderful. He’s everything I want in a guy, but we’ve been friends for years and he’s never done anything. I wish he would…”

“Neither have you,” she states simply.

“Yeah, but he’s… But he’s Poe Dameron! He confidently steals the hearts of men and women alike. When he enters a room, the whole place lights up and everyone gravitates towards him. He’s like the sun. I’m just me.”

“You aren’t just you. You are you. You are Finn Trooper, a compassionate, loyal, and wonderful friend. You always make the best of what you have, and you look out for those you care about. Finn, he’d be lucky to date you.”

Rey squeezes his hand, and Finn smiles feebly.

Leaning forward, he stares at his crossed hands, then looks up at Rey.

“Should I ask him out?” Finn gushes, his hand drums against his thigh.

“It’s about time,” Rey laughs.

Nodding, Finn smiles, looking like someone about to cliff dive for the first time.

“I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it this time,” he commands himself.

He seems to savor the words for a moment before hugging her. Then, Finn rushes out of the flat. She smiles and waves until the door slams shut.

The warmth of affection fades, leaving her shivering in its absence. She’ll never find someone who loves her like that.

_She’s too broken, not even her parents wanted her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading. I hope that you've enjoyed this update. Thank you all for your wonderful comments! It seems that the general consensus was for longer chapters, so here we are! I'll try to update more than once a week, but this month will probably get quite busy, so I can't make any promises there. 
> 
> With that said, I want to point out that none of what these characters say indicates my own world-views. Han and Leia talk about several sensitive subjects here, and, in some instances, what each of them said was meant more as a barb for the other than a sign of his or her own beliefs as well. 
> 
> Also, what are your thoughts on the confrontation in the grocery store? In this, Rey clutches onto a black and white world view, while Kylo/Ben advocates for grey. Do you feel this suits canon? (Personally, I feel that Kylo/Ben considering the world as black and white in canon could be argued, but I went with this one, since it better suits the story itself and this version of his character. I would love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> Thanks for commenting!


	7. Chapter 7

Her fingers drum the steering wheel as Rey skids down the backroads. She glances at the clock on her dash, and realizes she’s running late again. Her eyes flicker to her phone, but she shakes her head and focuses on driving instead. Cursing herself, she turns down the music when she hears an odd popping sound, then she notices the acrid smell of something burning.

Twisting about to search for a place to saftely pull off the side of the  road, Rey slowly peels off to the side of the road and parks. Prying up the hood of her car, Rey inspects the innards. A wave of smoke leaves her coughing. Waving a hand in front of her nose, she leans over, but she can’t make out what’s causing the issue. It’s probably engine trouble, she decides. Looking about, she realizes the desolate state of her surroundings. Grumbling, she pulls out her phone and googles a car mechanic.  

Scrolling through her options, Rey finally decides on Millenium Repairs. It has a four star rating and offers to tow cars within the city limits. Hopefully, she can talk her way into getting them to come out here. She taps the call button and waits. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Rey sighs. Then, a gruff voice mumbles something unintelligible. Rey struggles to translate the jumble of syllables and low-pitched grunts. She hums and haws whenever the voice pauses and tries to guess what he could be asking her. So far, he hasn’t seemed confused or angered, so she thinks this might be working. Finally, she rushes through an explanation of what happened and her approximate location. He huffs and she hears clattering in the background and an oddly familiar voice swearing. The phone goes dead. 

Grumbling to herself, Rey calls her secretary in order to warn the poor girl that they’ll have to reschedule their meeting and shift her morning appointments to  either this evening or tomorrow morning. The twenty-something doesn’t sound particularly surprised at Rey’s news and hangs up rather abruptly. Blinking, Rey inspects her phone before counting down the minutes until the tow truck will arrive. She’s good at waiting. 

                                                                                   …

A rusty tow-truck with peeling sky-blue paint and a hastily slashed together logo advertising Millenium Repairs screeches down the street and jerks to a stop one meter in front of Rey. Clutching her racing heart and wondering if she should feel thankful for being alive or furious at the man’s racy driving skills, Rey waves frantically and gestures to her car. The left door of the truck slams open and Han strides towards her. Rey gapes. Apparently she can’t escape Solo men; they’re more tenacious than cockroaches. The right door opens and a tall, muscular man with a mop of chestnut hair, bushy eyebrows, and a beard that could make any old sailor jealous hobbles towards her. Han smirks, taking an eyeful of both Rey and her mutinous car, before muttering something to his partner. The man grunts. Rey looks at her phone and debates contacting another towing company. She’s about to dial AAA when Han sidles up to her and plomps his arm over her shoulders.

“So, kid, what happened? You said something about an engine?” Han murmurs, kneeling in front of the car before peering into its depths. 

“I heard a pop, then smelled something burning, so I stopped the car and called you.”

“Good choice, that other guy in town, Hutt, he’ll rip you off. Chewie and I, well, we’ll fix her up for a decent price,” Han rambles while banging around under the hood. Rey nods and the guy who probably never saw a razor before in his life, Chewie apparently, seems to smile. His beard and mustache shift upwards, so Rey just assumes that’s his way of grinning. Chewie steps next to Han, pushing him away from the car playfully, and tilts his head towards the engine. Rey marvels at the seven foot man hunched over her car with his ear perpendicular to her engine. In these woods, he might fuel the stories of some drunk teenage campers who’ll go on for days claiming they all saw Bigfoot. Chewie grumbles something, and Rey strains to make sense of the blur of sounds. If she concentrates, she thinks he said something about needing to bring it back to the shop. Han nods, rubs his chin, then glances over his shoulder at her. 

“Well, hop in the truck and we’ll drop you off at your office. Looks like we’ll have to take this pile of junk back to the shop.”

“It’s not rubbish,” Rey interjects. Sure, her car could use a new paint job and its age rivals her own, but it takes her from point a to point b. 

“Kid, this car’s older than you.”

“No, I’m two years older.”

“You’re twenty-eight?”

“...Of course.”

“Huh… That’s some babyface you have. Still a kid though.” 

Chewie seems to chastise Han. He rolls his eyes, turning to face his partner. “Fine, fine,” Han waves him off and smirks at Rey.

“You’re a smart kid,” he laughs. “There, happy now?” he asks Chewie. Chewie grumbles and rolls his eyes, but stiffly walks back to the car. He pulls the door open and waits. Rey blinks, then grabs her satchel, and skids to the car. She settles awkwardly in the middle and Chewie shuffles in behind her after a few minutes of rigging her car to their truck. As he sits down, the truck seems to sink under his weight. Han jumps into the driver's seat and starts the car, blaring Bruce Springsteen and humming along with the windows rolled down.

As she clutches her bag to her chest in a desperate attempt to occupy less space, Rey observes Han through the corner of her eye. His salt-and-pepper hair gleams silver in the morning light, and reminds her of moonbeams. His tanned skin tells of a youth spent under the blaring sun, and she notes the distinct frown lines and wrinkles across his forehead and under his sunken eyes. Those doe eyes of his still gleam with mischievous mirth and memorable misadventures. She bets he could have rivaled Tom Sawyer in his heyday. As he whistles along to Bruce Springsteen behind the wheel of his car, Rey can almost picture a younger, less cynical Han flying in a cloudless sky above lush green forests singing aloud and off-key about how he was born in the USA. 

 

Rey never saw so much green as she does in those moments of imagined memory.

 

* * *

 

Rey stumbles into the studio with her yoga mat resting between her shoulder blades. Luke greets her with a sky-blue glare before clearing his throat and gesturing towards the empty place besides Bertha, who cheerfully waves and rolls her eyes in Luke’s direction. Rey stifles her laugh and weaves between the various outstretched bodies until she finds her place and unrolls her yoga mat. 

“He’s in one of his moods today. Obviously someone decided to insert a second stick up his ass,” Bertha remarks. 

Grimacing, Rey mimics Bertha’s pose. 

“Do you know what happened?” she asks.

“Nope. He’s been tight-lipped about it, but Suzy has a theory.”   
“Do any of you know how yoga came to be?” Luke interrupts. 

His voice booms across the room and a petite, brunette woman in the first row with a slicked back ponytail who always wears lululemon tights and a pastel colored top jerks and falls flat on her face. Bertha snorts. The prozac-preppy blonde two mats to the left of Rey rattles off about effective calorie burning and increased flexibility with the smug, ass-kissing tone of a straight-A star A-levels student. Luke smiles and nods encouragingly. Then, when the woman stops and smirks over shoulder at Bertha and Rey, Luke opens his mouth.

“Funny. Everything you just said is completely wrong.” 

Her pepcid pink lips open in an “O” of shock and she blinks. 

Smirking, Luke falls into a lecture about how yoga is a spiritual act and he begins explaining its long history. Rey nods along, while Bertha grumbles.

“I swear, everything he’s saying sounds like he just memorized the wikipedia article. I’ll look it up and send it to you after class. I’m not kidding,.”. 

Then, the door slams open with a clatter and Luke’s mouth snaps shut. The wrinkles around his eyes seem to fade away and his eyes burn bright as he stares at whoever is standing in the doorway. 

Twisting to look, Rey spots Leia standing regally with her shoulders thrust back and her hair braided into a mahogany and grey streaked crown. Luke’s eyes widen and his blinks rapidly before scowling. Leia tuts and sits down in a nearby foldable metal chair. Clearing his throat, Luke continues his unwanted lecture. 

A few women actually correct him, but he glares and fumbles for an excuse each time. Leia snorts at each slapdash answer. Luke’s gaze keeps drifting to her, and, instead of his usual stormy-sea blues, his eyes lighten to the same blue as a cloudless July sky. The wrinkles around his eyes seems to fade away, and Rey can imagine a young, fresh-faced farmer with dreams of adventure under that same limitless, azure sky, instead of the discontent and snappish yoga instructor before her. 

As the class comes to an end and Luke dismisses them, Rey slows her movements and strains her ears. Bertha raises an eyebrow, but then a spark of understanding illuminates her nutmeg eyes and she gestures to her phone. Rey waves her away, and Bertha clucks her tongue, but doesn’t complain. 

After hugging Leia for a good ten seconds, Luke moves away, clearing his throat and crossing his arms. 

“I’m not going,” he states succinctly. 

“We need you.”

Leia stresses the word and Luke rubs the back of his neck. 

“I… I can’t. Besides, he doesn’t want me there. Neither of them do.”

“Han’s your friend,” Leia interjects. 

“Was. He was my friend. The only person who can stay friends with that scoundrel for long is Chewie.”

“That’s not true.” Leia crosses her own arms, mirroring Luke. 

“Really? What about Callasian?” 

He juts his chin out and raises an eyebrow a fresh smirk painted across his face. 

“Well… They were never exactly friends…” Leia hedges. 

She glances at the polished, wooden floor before meeting Luke’s gaze.

“Your family needs you,” Leia says, then she pauses and reaches for Luke’s hand.

He untanges his arms and reaches out for her hand as well. He holds her hand in his own like one would hold a bird, or one’s hopes: lightly, but with a hidden strength and determination. His thumb caresses the spot between Leia’s thumb and forefinger. 

Rey’s heart thunders in her ears. She feels as if she’s trapped in a wave, being battered about amidst the constant roar of the sea. He’s Leia’s Luke: her twin brother and Ben’s faulty uncle. 

And… They really do… She struggles to finish the sentence, instead the words swirl around like water circling a clogged drain. 

While staring at the shift in Luke’s face, and realizing that the chiseled stone expression softens to hand-warmed clay simply because of Leia’s presence, Rey finally swallows and accepts the truth. 

Then, nodding to herself, Rey realizes that Finn didn’t exaggerate that evening at the bar when she decided to become the Organa-Solo family therapist.

The Organa-Solo family really could star in a telenovela.  

 

* * *

 

Ben glances at his phone, checking the time, then tries to peer through the window. He sees several brown-haired girls with messy buns, but he can’t quite tell if these girls are Rey. Taking a deep breathe, he pushes open the door and resolutely walks to the counter. 

A vaguely familiar barista smiles at him. She tilts her head to the left and wags her eyebrows. Ben blinks. The girl behind the counter laughs as she types his order into the POS system. 

“She’s here,” she whispers quite loudly. 

Ben’s ears warm, and he looks about frantically. Then, he notices Rey chewing on the end of a pen and leaning over some battered book. He fights back a smile, but the edges of his lips continue to tug upwards and eventually he gives up and just ducks his face away from Rey instead. The barista giggles. 

“I see a lot of couples, of course, but watching you two is like witnessing a rom-com in real life. I swear, you’re like a puppy or something. It’s adorable,” she gushes. 

Ben’s entire face burns. Even in the scarecrow days when his kneecaps poked out and he seemed like all awkward, jutting joints, preposterous, neck-breaking height and Dumbo-the-elephant ears, no one ever called him adorable.

The girl passes him his drink and gives him a shooing motion. Ben numbly passes her his credit card and then shoves a few dollar bills into the tip jar. He marvels at the cup in hand; he never even said his order. Then he squares his shoulders and wishes for the upteenth time to be handsome.  

When he clears his throat, Rey jerks up like some criminal in the electric chair and looks about frantically. Then, their eyes meet and she slowly relaxes, although her eyebrows crinkle, forming a wrinkle between both brown brows. Smiling, she takes a sip of her drink. 

“It seems like you’re becoming a regular,” she teases. 

The gold in her eyes glimmers like light filtering through emerald, forest leaves. Leaving him breathless and dazed, he clutches onto fleeting outlines of fuzzy memories, like some lost, lovelorn boy who woke up from a barely remembered quest. 

“They have good coffee,” he sputters.

The excuse falls awkward and hallow, but Rey just raises a brow for a few seconds before shrugging. 

“Perhaps this is good practice for you? You did say that you felt more relaxed out of the office,” she offers. 

He nods gratefully and tries to hide his cherry-tipped ears. 

“Still not that talkative though,” she laughs and swipes away a loose tendril of hair. 

“I’m just… Don’t talk much,” he shrugs. 

“Yet you decided to become a defense lawyer? What do you do on court days?”

“Hope my client isn’t a fool.” 

Rey laughs heartily, and the sound makes his chest feel warm. Her eyes seem to shift, and she smiles for a second before feigning nonchalance. Rey swirls her spoon in her drink, taps it on the edge of the cup, and then thoughtfully licks the spoon. Ben stares at her cherry pink tongue, then gulps. 

“That’s a lot of hope for a self-proclaimed pessimist,” Rey retorts.

He snorts, and leans towards her. She’s like a magnet or the sun; there’s something about her that pulls Ben to her side, and he can’t seem to summon the willpower to fight it. 

“Even cynics dream,” he replies. 

“What do you dream about?” she asks, leaning forward. 

Ben wishes for the inches between them to disappear. If he pretended to lose balance, then he could taste the air she breathes out, and, perhaps, even feel her lips beneath his own. His heart races, then when he notices a new freckle. His heart falters.

“The girl,” he mutters, pushing the words through leaden lips. 

Rey blinks, biting her lip and slumping back in her chair. She straightens her shoulders and adjusts her shirt. The image of Rey biting her lip makes his stomach twist and his chest warm. 

“How is it coming? With her, I mean… The girl from work?” she asks. 

She seems to pluck the words nervously, and they hang there disjaringly. It reminds him of a beginner tapping out piano notes with shakey index fingers and creating a sound more poignant for its absence and that instinctual knowledge of its lacking than the notes themselves.

“Umm… We talk, but… I don’t think she sees me in that way… Not yet,” he sighs, chancing a glance at her face and wishing for a blush, but accepting a tanned mask of professional compassion. 

He swears he smells hand-sanitizer, so impersonal and clean. He wants coffee and vanilla, something intoxicatingly domestic, instead of this clinical disinfectant.  

“You just need to keep talking to her. Once you both get to know each other a bit better, I’m sure you’ll find the situation to be quite different. Not to mention, you do tend to underestimate yourself and your self-worth.” 

He stifles a smile, and then he takes a sip of his coffee. 

“I don’t think it’s underestimating myself when I’m just being truthful here,” he edges. 

“Ben!” she chides, nearly swatting him on the arm, but then stopping mid-way and awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ear instead. 

“I am an asshole. It’s simple fact. You said it yourself,” he shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. 

Rey looks away, and he swears he notes a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. 

“I never said that you are an asshole exactly. Besides, that was the first time we met and I wasn’t in a particularly charitable mood,” she mutters. “I say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m angry or stressed, like the other day at the grocery store. I was running late and I took that out on you. I completely disregarded your progress…” she rambles. 

Benm  shakes his head, but guilt seems etched in Rey’s features. Then, her gaze drifts away to memories of a time before him, and he wants to reach out and tug and her thoughts, instead of letting them float away like some helium balloon.   

“You might not have said asshole exactly, but you meant it. If you think I’m an asshole, then she obviously will,” he laughs mirthlessly.

It tastes bitter on his tongue, so he chokes down black coffee to distract himself instead. Rey rolls her eyes, but smiles faintly. 

“Once she gets to see the man behind the mask, she won’t hate you,” Rey states unwaveringly. 

She sounds so sure. He wishes it were that simple. Ben doesn’t know if there even is a man behind this mask of his anymore. At this point he’s sacrificed everything he once was in an attempt to fill the shoes of a figure more myth than man. He killed Ben Solo. 

“What if… What if what’s behind the mask is worse than the mask itself?” 

“I doubt that.” She answers immediately, like vollying back a tennis ball. 

“I wouldn’t. I’m a monster, and she’s… She’s not. She’s light,” he stresses the words, hoping Rey will understand.

Her eyes just grow brighter and her mouth just becomes smaller. 

“Ben, you aren’t a monster.” 

Her voice reminds him of a sword: sharp and metallic with an unyielding strength. 

“Yes, I am,” he growls. 

Rey’s eyes flash and she clenches her jaw. 

“There’s light in you, Ben Solo.” 

She leans towards him; her hand reaches out, as if to grasp his own. He aches to take her hand in his, but then past regrets and disappointed faces eclipse this desire. 

He remembers how Luke spat the word and swung. He recalls his mother’s down-turned mouth. He hears those frantic, whispered conversations between Han and his Mom in the kitchen that were so electric that the hairs on his forearms stood up. Finally, Ben accepts the truth: even his parents consider him a monster, so how can this plucky therapist who reads his mind like one might the Sunday paper think otherwise?  He’s irredeemable. 

“Funny, you’re the only one who seems to think that,” he spits.

He dons the depression and bitterness of his past like a beloved cloak. 

“Maybe they just don’t say it,” she insists. 

He feels torn between laughing at her naivety or thanking her. No one ever fought for him, yet here she sits, doing exactly that. And he loves her for it. He loves her. But, he’s not good enough for her. Besides, she doesn’t love him. 

“Rey, they always expected me to go down this path. They were waiting for it. They transformed every single mistake of mine into a sign of my falling to the darkness, or whatever melodramatic shit they think of it as,” he chokes out.

He slides on the mask of his youth, hiding hope behind dead eyes and a still face. 

He wants her to stay with him. He needs her to continue smiling at him with those mood-ring eyes of her’s. But he knows that soon she’ll regard him the same way everyone else does. Soon, she’ll stand up and walk out that door. He can’t let that happen again.

Ben pulls a hand through his hair, tugging at the irksome strands and quelching the itch begging him to either punch something or grab her hand. The buzzing itches increases in pressure and he feels like a volcano about to burst, so, instead of exploding, he runs. 

He crashes through the door and skids down the street, fleeing from the singing in his veins that chants of fists flying and blood flowing, of crumpling walls and wrecked electronics, of sprays of scarlet turning this black world red in the haze of his passion. 

 

* * *

 

Digging her elbows into the wooden bar and clutching her temples, Rey sighs and pulls her hair out its excuse of a bun. Poe quirks a brow and waits. She just shakes her head. He deftly passes her a menu with a sympathetic smile, then waves at someone she can’t quite see.

She tries to read the menu, but his face keeps eclipsing her vision. His warms eyes dimmed when he declared himself a monster. The word itself sounded both like a curse and a charm: simultaneously condemning and protecting. Then his face blaunched and he stormed out of the store as if it were on fire. She dejectedly slams the menu shut.

Questions flutter about like a flock of birds in her mind, and Rey can’t seem to sate them: if she had just reached out and taken his hand, would he realize that he isn’t alone; could she have saved him from sinking deeper into this despair? This unnamed need makes her fingertips tingle. 

Rey inspects her hand: the thin, splayed fingers, her honey-brown tanned skin, the calluses on her palms, and those raised-white scars running across her knuckles. 

She wants to use these hands to heal. She wants to scrub the blood off one deed at a time, but she can never seem to get rid of that rust-colored sin mocking her from under her fingernails. She failed him today. They were off hours, so Rey could have reached out and taken his hand, but instead she faltered. 

 

_ Next time she won’t make that mistake. _

 

_ She can’t let another life slip through her fingers. _

A heavy arm plops across her shoulder and twists to its owner. 

“You alright, peanut?” Finn asks with furrowed brows and worried eyes.

“Yeah, I just… Couldn’t help someone,” she sighs. 

Finn squeezes her shoulders, then takes one of her hands in his.

“Rey, you know therapy is incremental. It takes time to address your client’s issues and help formulate a plan to help them. You can’t just heal them in one session. Don’t beat yourself up anymore,” Finn stresses the words as he stares into her eyes. 

Her shoulders tense, and she fights back the urge to snap at him.

“I just had a patient nearly open up to me, but instead we lost that progress and I feel that I just didn’t do said patient justice. Instead, the patient spiraled.”

She struggles to explain the scene playing on a film reel in her mind. It just keeps repeating itself, and, each time, she notices more instances in which he begged to be saved. Ben stared at her so intently, as if she were a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean, and she fucked it up, leaving him to drown in his insecurities. 

Her hand itches, but she ignores the instinct to destroy. She fell for that siren-call long ago and learned the futileness of punching the waves. It will never bring her peace. Instead, she motions for Poe. He sidles up to them, sending Finn a questioning glance, before turning to her. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

“Everyone is asking that today. I’m fine,” she snaps.

Poe blinks, looks over a Finn, and then nods slowly. 

“So, what would you like to order?” 

“What I always get, I guess,” she shrugs. 

Drumming her fingers on the bar, she waits for him to leave. Part of her regrets even coming to Resistance. She should have made up some lousy excuse and ducked out of their weekly meeting. But Finn would have worried and he’d have fretted the whole evening instead of enjoying his time with Poe, so here she sits, growling at strangers and friends alike in a bar and reminding herself that drinking away her problems won’t solve them.

“Okay,” Poe nods.

He jots something down in a notebook, and then races off to the cash register. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” grumbles Finn. 

Rey twists around to face him.

“Do what?” she growls.

“You know,” Finn insists. 

His jaw tightens and she suddenly notices the shadows under his eyes. 

As she stares at her hands, she forces the words out, “I’m sorry.” 

“Tell him,” Finn says, jerking his head towards Poe. 

Rey nods, while biting her lip. Poe currently talks to someone by the entrance, gesturing about grandly and laughing with the exuberance of a child. Guilt plucks at Rey’s heart for snapping at Poe earlier. Then, she looks at Finn and finally sees him: new wrinkles age his youthful face and he has purple smudges under his eyes 

“You alright?”  she asks. 

Finn blinks, then he smiles softly, “Some days I leave the office, but my heart’s still there.”

Rey pats him on the shoulder. 

“I know,” she whispers, her voice almost cracking on the words. 

She smiles softly and leans her head on Finn’s shoulder. He twists a strand of her hair between his forefingers thoughtfully, then smiles faintly. 

“You’re the closest thing I have to a family, you know that?” he confesses.

“You’re mine as well,” she replies, choking on the jagged edges and swallowing down the bitter dream of two lean figures with blurry faces returning for her. They sit there in silence, and Rey finally lets the tears fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is late. Without going into a lot of details, some crazy things happened over the weekend and earlier this week, so I postponed my update. Some of the news was good. Some of the news was bad. Luckily, everything worked out in the end.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I hope you like this update. If you have time, please comment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you all for reading this story! I hope you like it. If you have time, please consider writing a comment of leaving kudos. Frankly, they are great motivators. 
> 
> Also, I want to thank my wonderful beta, kylohhh, who kindly proof-read all of this and did the best she could to fix this story. 
> 
> I also want to thank both humble_mumbles and MrsViolet for their support and advice. Both are accomplished writers and wonderful people. If you haven't read their fanfics, then I highly recommend doing so immediately! :) 
> 
> Here's my Tumblr if you want to dm questions or just follow me. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/judelittlewanderer


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